The Empty Roof - The Return of Sherlock
by romybook
Summary: "Everything began with Sherlock, everything ended with his fall". That was what John thought but he was so wrong. Sherlock was still everywhere. John begged Sherlock to be alive. Now, he is about to understand what a true surprise is with all its feeling and most of all, what a real genius Sherlock is. More than that... John and his genius detective, Sherlock and his blogger...
1. Everything always begins with John

**Chapter 1: Everything always begins with John**

_Highgate Cemetery, January 2012_

John was looking at Sherlock Holmes' grave, feeling so bad. This all situation was so wrong. Why did he have to speak to him? Sherlock wasn't there. He wouldn't be there anymore…

John cleared his throat. Actually, there were some things he wanted to say at loud. And maybe, yes, maybe, Sherlock could hear him…

- You...you told me once...that you weren't a hero. There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this, you were... the best man... the most human...human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so... there. I was so alone... and I owe you so much. But, please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this.

… More than a year later…

_427 Park Lane, London suburbs, Marsh 2013_

John Watson was in his office, surrounded by closed boxes. One box was open in front of him. He had only few things to bundle. The removal men were going in and out very quickly. It was quite disturbing. After a while, he grabbed the last object which laid on his desk. This one object he used to look at. This one object which brought back memories…

…Twenty five months earlier…

_Buckingham Palace, December 2010_

John looked at Sherlock who was wrapped in a sheet. His look passed from his friend's face to below the belt. He stared a bit.

- You wearing any pants, asked John.

- No, answered Sherlock.

- OK.

They exchanged a knowing look. Then, they laughed.

- At Buckingham Palace. Right, added John. I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.

Sherlock laughed again.

…

_Later In the cab_

- Ok, the smoking, how did you know? Asked John.

- The evidence was right under your nose, John, as ever you see, but do not observe.

- Observe what?

- The ashtray, answered Sherlock, removing the object from his jacket.

John laughed and Sherlock followed him.

John was staring at the ashtray, full of memories, a tear on his cheek. He pulled it in the box and closed it. That was done. John left the office and after that the house. Sarah was on the doorstep, obviously. He didn't know what to say so he passed in front of her. After a few feet, he finally turned down.

- Sarah, I'm …

- Don't say it. I know you don't mean it.

- But…

- More than a year and you still think about him. You became as much insane as he was.

- Don't speak about him like that, said John angrily. He doesn't deserve it. You just don't know him.

- He is dead, John. Sherlock is dead.

John gasped. It was still hard to hear it.

- Never mind, said Sarah. I'll send you the papers in a week. Bye.

Sarah closed the door of her house, John's ex-home, even if he never felt it that way. He was home nowhere actually. Not since Sherlock…

John shook his head, staring at the door. Like that, his marriage was over. He had always dreamed about the day he would finally be married. That didn't go along as he had expected. Far away from that.

- Dammit, Sherlock, you're not there anymore but you still put the kibosh on my relationships!

Talking to him was one of his habits. Which helped the marriage being over if he had to be honest. So soon…

John walked in the street, looking for a cab, barely. Then, he passed in front of a homeless guy who was sitting not really far from Sarah's house. Again, John thought about Sherlock. Homeless always made him think about him. His favorite network. How could Sherlock have such a hold on his life? John shrugged. That didn't matter. He did and he will always do.

As usual, he took a coin from his pocket. Even if his doctor's salary wasn't high, for John, giving to them honored Sherlock's memory. So he gave it to the man.

- Thank you, said a deep voice.

John looked again at him, trying to discern his face behind the beard, the cap and the jacket… Even if the voice sounded familiar, he didn't know the man. John nodded. A strange feeling took him. Now he really wanted to find a cab and go somewhere. Anywhere!

…

A few hours later, John was sitting at his desk, thinking about his life. It seemed he was stuck in a loop. Before he met Sherlock, he lived there in this tiny apartment. He had no purpose in his life back then. He was so bored that he didn't even want to live anymore. Then, Sherlock came into his life and turned everything upside down. Of course, John hadn't seen how much Sherlock was important. He hadn't seen or maybe he didn't want to see that Sherlock was the center of his life, all his days. And their work of course meant a lot. But, after his death, he really understood the proverb which said that: "you realize the importance of a person only when you lose him". That was so true and so heartbreaking. Even if he didn't want to admit it to anyone. Nobody was blind, though. When Sarah came into his life again – only God knows why – John believed he could find a way to move on. Despite it, he went back to square one: in his tiny flat, which seemed always free for him. At least, he had now a job. Thanks to Sherlock, again. John never forgot what Sherlock once told him: "Work is the best antidote to sorrow". So he did: he kept working in what he did best: making other people feel better. Not him. Sherlock was wrong, finally… If only it wasn't about that… Working wasn't an antidote at all. Just the reminder of the days when everything was perfect, when he hadn't a time to think, to get bored, to be alone actually. Sherlock was always there. Of course, sometimes he barely spoke, sometimes he was a pain in the ass. But he was there. His true friend. His only friend.

And now, here he was: more lost than ever, sadder than ever. It was Sunday and he had nothing to do. It wasn't his Mrs. Hudson's day. Neither Greg's. As usual when he was too alone with himself, John opened his laptop and began to check the news. Criminal news for the most. After Sherlock's death, John didn't stop being interested in such things. Actually, Sherlock had aroused a real passion. Even if he only possessed one percent of Sherlock genius, John always tried to resolve the cases he could see on the blog he used to follow. When he was well aware of all the details of the case, he thought a lot about it. And after that, he posted his conclusions. Of course, there were no cases as interesting as there were with Sherlock. Even the criminals missed him a lot. But it was still something. Something he did to hold on. John laughed a bit. Suddenly, his own behavior reminded him Sherlock. He was always bored. He often said the people brought them boring cases. He kind of understood that now. Oh God, he missed Sherlock a lot. John felt a pain in his chest. The pain began to grow. Then, his shoulder was also painful. His leg. All his body.

John looked at the clock. It was early but he could go now. Actually, he needed to. John turned off his laptop and took his jacket. Then, he left the apartment.

…

Few minutes later, John was in the Cemetery, in front of Sherlock's grave. The Sunday was always their day. John talked to Sherlock a lot because he couldn't bare the idea of him being dead. He sounded kind of crazy, but always now he thought that he should have known in him that his friend was dead. But his brain, his heart hadn't done that, yet. So he kept coming, he kept talking. And it was the most beautiful day of his week. John cried a lot on Sunday. When he was alone, alone with Sherlock, finally he managed to let speak his heart. It was always so hard. Since his childhood, he was a secret boy, shy, reserved. His relationship with his father, then with Harry, and finally the war didn't help him to open his heart. But now, he regretted it. In fact, he had never felt the need to open. Except with one tall handsome guy with curled hair. Yes, if only he could have spoken to him. Really speak. About things which mattered. That was the biggest regret John had. Because, for the moment, he didn't want to share any part of his heart with anyone. He had tried. A lot. With his therapist, with all the date he tried to have, then with Sarah. But no one could have been as perfect as Sherlock to understand him. No one…

Just after his death, John wanted to die. He thought that killing himself was probably a good idea. Life would never be the same without the genius detective. Then, he thought about Sherlock. This crazy feeling he had in him that he wasn't totally gone. He just couldn't do it. In fact, the pain made things more real and it helped him to live.

After his long talking, John said the last words he always said to Sherlock.

- Please, Sherlock, for me, don't be dead…

Then, John left back to his life, to his daily routine, to his eternal sadness.

Few feet away, hidden behind a great tree was Sherlock, in flesh. It was a pale figure of Sherlock, though. The man was barely recognizable. Thinner than ever. Paler than ever. With big shadows under his eyes. Their eyes, themselves, were bloodshot. It was hard to watch. Especially the tears which felt on his distinct cheekbones. Sherlock had always had a lovely face. But now, he was just a ghost.

Quickly, Sherlock wiped his eyes. He had made himself a promise he wasn't ready to go back. Even if his right hand was taping on his phone.

**For you, I won't ever die – SH**

Sending the text was so easy. But he didn't do it. Despite the pain he could feel, it was totally worth it. Protecting John was obviously worth it. A true friend like that…

As usual on Sunday, Sherlock was thinking about John, about their friendship. And, as usual, he forced himself to stop. Actually, few years earlier, when he was a young teenager he made himself another promise which was also worthy to keep: for his sake, for his own sanity, he didn't have to feel, to care. Mycroft said it was a weakness. It was so true for him. For his all life, it hadn't been hard for Sherlock. But since he lost John; that part of him wanted to go out. He remembered when he was on that bloody damn roof. He could have foiled everything just for John. Caring was so dangerous, indeed… Then, Sherlock remembered another thing: the second time he had almost lost it, the second time he had almost run to John and grab him just because he wanted him to know that yes he was still alive. Since then, everyday has been an ordeal, a way to show how he could be very selfless.

…One year and so earlier…

Mrs. Hudson had just left John. Finally alone, he had talked to him, to his grave in fact. The words he said were heartbroken at least. But, the worst was yet to come.

After the funerals so, even if John had told Mrs. Hudson he didn't want to go to Baker Street for now, he understood he had to give it a shot. He had to take some of his stuff, anyway.

After a short ride in cab, too short for him in any case, John walked to the door of the 221b. Then, it happened. John began to shake. Not only his hands. His all body. With a lot of strength, he managed to open it. He didn't close the door behind him, so Sherlock had seen everything. After two steps, John felt on the floor with a scream, a deep scream from his chest. At this moment, Sherlock began to walk to him. He was already disguised so nobody could recognize him.

Then, John began to cry. Hearing the noises, Mrs. Hudson run to him. She tried to take him in her arms but John was struggling. He was talking. Sherlock was too far to hear. But, after a while, he understood. It was just his name that John repeated again and again. As far as he could see, John was hallucinating.

Sherlock was closer and closer from the door. He had already given up. Living without John was too painful. Seeing John like that was too heartbroken. But, then, he saw it. The only thing which can help him to continue his trip in evil: Moriarty's man. His closest friend as he knew now. Much more than a friend, though…

Sherlock began to get angry. And for the first time in his life, he wanted to inflict suffering. So badly. If only Moriarty wasn't dead… He could have capture him and made him beg for his life. Twice, as Irene had said once… Everything was so unfair. Because Moriarty's bad men were free, he, Sherlock, was useless and John, the good John was literally in hell.

That was the first time Sherlock wanted to do drugs again. He struggled then… For a while. But he couldn't resist to smoke a cigarette. He put one in his mouth. He always dreamt about this day… It was worse than everything. Not the taste, obviously. The sight, actually.

Clearly, Sherlock had fought his feelings, whatever they be. Now he was used to it. In fact, he had rather stopped struggling with his demons. Drugs had to help him to not feel!

But, despite everything he thought, despite everything he told himself, Sherlock had forgotten that sometimes the heart has its reasons that reason doesn't know.

And it was for that simple reason – and not because of his work – that Sherlock followed John as soon as he left the cemetery. In more than a year, he had always been his shadow.

"**If only this one thing could happen, then I'll be back in your life before you even notice... or so."**

**Please, review! Thanks.**


	2. One murder and we're back on track

**Chapter 2: One murder and we're back on track**

_Westminster Bridge Road, London, March 30__th__, 12pm_

D. I. Greg Lestrade was walking on the street, as a robot. He was so tired and he looked bad. Since a year now, he always looked like that. Crime and felony didn't leave him alone. No matter what time it was, Greg was in alert. So, when Sally called him earlier, he wasn't really surprised. Neither by the location of the murder, neither by the identity of the dead guy. Criminals had always had a great imagination… Even though, he was kind of upset. He loved that place very much. In fact, the inauguration in December 99 was his first important assignment as a sergeant. Until then, he came here a lot to see the beauty of London. It had such a good view. Moreover, he knew that his ex-wife didn't like the place. So, he knew he would be alone, there, surrounding by people, lost in them. And now, some crazy bastard had sullied this site. Who had the stupid idea to kill someone there? At least, the investigation should have been simple. A closed and high space. Lots of witnesses… Everything a detective enjoyed.

A shame that the murderer didn't wait the morning. When could he finally have a full night of sleep? Greg had never counted his time at work, but since more than a year, he was totally overworked. He had so much to do. Everyday. Besides, his job wasn't as attractive as before. Actually, Greg had kind of lost his faith in justice. In a matter of fact, justice had failed Sherlock…

Full of thinking, Greg had finally reached the murder scene. Almost. In front of him was the most popular paid tourist attraction in the UK, one of the famous attractive place of the capital: the London Eye. This gigantic wheel was really beautiful to see, especially at night. And now, a murderer had been committed in. Greg closed his jacket and then he buried himself in the usual noises and lights of the police officers.

The body had been found in one of the capsules, right after the murder. Since then, the body had been removed, on the floor, next to the wheel. The coroner had already finished his work on the body. Now he was waiting to take him to the morgue. But before that, Greg had to see it and all the area… Near the body, was standing Donovan. In fact, she was waiting for him, ready to tell everything she knew. Sally had a smile on her face. She tried to hide it but he knew she enjoyed a particular murder scene.

- I'm listening, said Greg to the sergeant.

Sally looked at her notes, then she raised her head, confident about what she had to tell.

- As I said earlier, the victim is Ronald Adair, our so famous politician. He paid to be alone in his capsule, no reason why. We found him laid down the floor, a single shot right in his head.

- What? He was alone. I thought you told me there were witnesses.

- Yeah, I mean, there was a lot of people all around but not with him.

Greg rolled his eyes. He hated to see the incompetence of his coworker. But he also hated being like that. Because that made him feel like Sherlock…

Greg looked a bit at the body. The gunshot was very precise. He seemed to be dead on the spot. There wasn't much blood on the capsule. There was no other clue. Alright, that wasn't an easy case after all.

Greg turned round Sally and he said:

- Let's begin the investigation, so…

…

_John's flat, March 31__st_

John woke up at 10 on the Sunday morning. He had spent a good night, for once. Another week of work had passed and now it was his day off. He expected a lot of that day, as usual. All the Sundays were exceptional, actually. And he had still no idea…

John made his breakfast. After a swallow of his favorite tea, he turned on his laptop. He looked for his tray. He put it next the computer. Then he turned on the TV. He had slept too much so he wanted to catch up about the news.

At the same time, he heard the alert on his laptop and he read the banner at the bottom of the TV screen. For few seconds, John tried to follow the TV and the computer. But it was too much. Before he had the time to choose, the main title of the breaking news began. John raised the volume of the device. Then, he focused.

First, he saw the London Eye. He got more interested. The camera showed the body under a sheet. After that, he saw a bunch of officers and on the foreground, there was Lestrade. John hadn't seen him in a week. He looked more and more tired with the passing days. Besides, he was assailed by a horde of journalists. Poor fellow… Despite his thought, John smiled. His day was getting better, if it was possible…

After the TV, John began to read all the articles he could find on the subject. Ronald Adair was the foreign minister, after all. It was quite an amazing news. John got more intrigued gradually. He felt there was something odd in this case, or seemed so: his assignment of the week.

John took the remote control but before he could turn off the TV, he heard Lestrade who was finally speaking. It wasn't really brilliant. Even if the words of Greg were positive and politically corrects, John saw under the surface that he was totally lost. In fact, he began to know Greg a lot.

John took from the pocket of his pyjama, his mobile.

**Are you alright? – JW**

One second later, his mobile rang.

**Meet me at home tonight if you're really interested **** - GL**

**I'll be here at 7. I'm going to see the murder scene. – JW**

**Say hello to Sherlock for me… - GL **

**I don't like to be spied, Greg! – JW**

**You perfectly know I watch over you, John. I was just trying to be nice… - GL**

**See yah. – JW**

…

After his visit to Sherlock, shorter than usual, John reached the center of London. In the cab, for the first time in a long time, he felt happy. Kind of. He didn't understand why he felt a warm feeling in his chest but that was quite reassuring.

He left the cab, not so far from the London Eye. He just wanted to walk a while. John stared at the big wheel. It was always surprising to see it. John didn't pay attention of his walk. So, a few feet before he arrived next to the wheel, which was filled by people: tourists and curious; John hit against something which was on the floor. He began to fall but a man caught him at the last moment. The man was actually a homeless. John hadn't seen him, sat on the ground. With a magical reflex, the man had stood and grabbed John arm. Before John could see him, he turned round and caught his stuffs.

- Be careful, said the man before he left in a hurry.

John gasped. Not because of the words of the man. But because of his touch. What happened with him today? Again, this warm feeling filled his entire body. When finally, John recovered, the man was away from a few feet. John cleared his throat, taking a deep breath.

- Thank you, he yelled.

The man was far but John saw him stopping in the middle of the street. It was just a second but John saw him, though. In fact, John saw another thing which kind of rang an unknown bell. On the jacket of the man, there was a logo. A word or a name actually: Sigerson. That wasn't a common name but he was sure he had already heard it in the past… What the hell! That day was so awkward but really interesting.

John reached the wheel few seconds later, still confused. For a while, he walked all around the wheel, watching and thinking. He felt so tiny human, next to this gigantic building. He remembered Sherlock and his indifference of the astronomy.

_Yes, Sherlock, the Earth is turning around the Sun. Yes, we are some kind of miserable creatures. But, you, Sherlock, you are a god. You were, though…_

…

_Greg's flat, 7pm._

Greg was preparing some "amuse-bouche". The beers were in the fridge, ready to take the top off. There was just one thing missing… One person, more accurately.

At the same moment, John rang Greg's doorbell.

- You look terrible, said John with a half-smile.

- I think I deserve it because of earlier…

- No need to talk about it. So tell me… What did you hide to the journalists?

Greg laughed a bit. That was totally John.

- That's a funny case, actually. Don't have to tell you who the Honorable Adair is. For a politician, the guy was quite clean. No real British enemies, just some opponents. An ex-wife called Edith Woodley who was still his best friend. Anyhow, she has an alibi: she is in New York for three months. Doesn't seem to have a regular partner. So, no jealous girl or boy friend. He was totally dedicated to his work. You may be remember his family is particularly rich.

- Yeah, when the Prime Minister chose him, some of his opponents called it a scandal.

- Totally… But his death doesn't seem to fit with a money crime. We don't know yet why he was alone in his capsule. The employees of the wheel told us he seemed not in the mood. They didn't recognize him actually but he paid a lot.

- Something was bothering him.

- It seems so.

- Do you know where he was before he came to the London Eye?

- He worked all day long. He had a lot of meetings. He left the Palace of Westminster at 8. The cab took him to Downing Street…

- What? The prime minister is involve.

- I really don't know. Because, nobody saw where he went then. We just found him on the cameras of the subway at 9.30. He went directly to the wheel. He queued up a bit because he climbed into the capsule at 10.30. They found his body at 11.15.

- Is anybody see something?

- No witnesses.

- So, it has to be a long-range shot.

- That's what I thought. The thing is that the caliber of the bullet is a 7.62. And so the sniper rifles which correspond are at best from half a miles. We checked all the buildings. Thanks to the rank of Adair, I have all the officers of London under my commandment for that search. It didn't last long. But we don't find anything. Not even a little piece of shit…

John laughed a little.

- That's not funny, John. Tomorrow morning, I have to make a statement. They're all going to make fun of us, as usual… Of course, the investigation will keep going. But, something tells me that it won't go anywhere.

- We realize more clearly than ever the loss which the community has sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes, don't you think?

- Don't preach to the choir… I believe even Anderson and Donovan missed their "Freak".

John gasped at the mention of the nickname.

- Speaking of the man, he said after a bit, I believe Mycroft is the one for your investigation. Actually, he is the British government according to Sherlock. He might help you with the Prime Minister…

- He is not really my friend, you know.

- I could text him, if you want.

- Of course, you'll do that for me. I have just one thing to say: seeing that we don't have the genius Holmes, let's take the influential one.

After that, Greg and John kept talking about the murder. They tried to analyze the scene, the dead minister, everything from the case with the same observation and deduction of their lost friend. It was hard because even if Sherlock had always explained to them his work, they hadn't really understand what he wanted to teach. So, they do their best. At the end of the evening, the only thing they were sure of was that the shooter was obviously a sniper, maybe a guy from the special operation forces. Even if they didn't know the place of the shooting, even if they didn't know what gun has been used, it was obviously an experimented shooter who was discreet and precise. And they probably wouldn't see him again.

- So, what will you say tomorrow? Asked John after a bit.

- That's not like if I have a choice. I saw the Commissioner earlier and he gave me a story. So I have to stick to it. Murder by an unknown person – but probably a lunatic – for an unknown reason – but since he was the foreign minister, it should have a connection with his job. So, an enemy of our nation who is a madman. How about that?

- Totally insane. Nobody will believe it…

- I perfectly know that.

- Why are you the one who has to tell the story? Why are you even on that case?

- You perfectly know why. That's my punishment…

- Because of Sherlock.

- The Commissioner isn't a fool. He was the first one to know for Adair. He is the one who choose the D.I.

- Maybe it's because you're skilled and competent.

Greg blurted an ironic laugh.

- You're naïve, John… rather really nice.

- Sherlock had ravaged our life so badly.

- I can't say the opposite, answered Greg in a yawn.

- I think it's time to go to bed. I'll text you as soon as I get any news from Mycroft.

- Alright, mate. Thanks for the evening. Much better than anything else.

…

Few minutes later, John was in the cab, thinking about what he could do know. Was it too late to contact Mycroft…? It was never late for him and John knew it. But he was kind of worried by the idea. He hadn't seen Mycroft very much. And it was always him who contacted. Never John. Those few thoughts gave him the courage to take his phone. He was kind of sick about Mycroft and all his mysteries. All his confidence. Maybe he would finally be disturbed. So now, what could he say?

**Something came up. Call me. – JW**

The next couple of days, John began to bombard Mycroft with texts. He hadn't reply. He showed no sign of life. That was so Mycroft. He wanted to be the one who made decision. That bothered John. A lot. Actually, he was the responsible of Sherlock's death. He should have helped him.

Here are some texts, John sent to Mycroft between two patients and then when he was alone at home:

**I need your help with a case. Don't hesitate to contact me! – JW**

**Maybe I'm not Sherlock. But I really work on a case. That's for Lestrade. You know Greg? The one who helped your dear brother. – JW**

**Dammit Mycroft. You're such a pain in the ass. And I mean it. Nobody can count on you. – JW**

**If you don't answer, I'm going to come at your office… - JW**

**Of course, it was just words… I change my mind, don't call me. Again. I don't need you. I never did. – JW**

John was particularly angry because he knew that Greg was in a bad position and he needed to get back his status.

…

On Wednesday, John decided he really wouldn't text Mycroft anymore. He had such a power issue. Too bad for him… Anyway, he had something more important to do than thinking about Mycroft. He just finished his shift and now he had his weekly afternoon with Mrs. Hudson.

After Sherlock's death and after the incident of the return at home, John couldn't dare to come at 221b Baker Street. But, in another way, he couldn't bear being away from Mrs. Hudson infinitely. So, on every Wednesday afternoon, they began to take tea together in the café next to the flat. It was hard for John to come in Baker Street but it was good to see his old friend. Little by little, John began to drive her home, to the door. Then, he finally found the courage to come in. Now, they were taking the tea in Mrs. Hudson apartment and they watched some silly shows on TV. That had always been their thing.

They never spoke about Sherlock. They didn't even say his name. They didn't either come in the flat. Maybe because they were afraid of the reaction of the other. Besides, it was kind of Sherlock's sanctuary. At the beginning, John wondered how Mrs. Hudson could live without the rent of the flat. Though, he never asked. And she never explained. The reason was simple. She always received the rent and she believed it was from John himself.

Of course, they were both wrong. Funny thing, it was on this very special Wednesday that they were about to find out who was the mysterious donor.

It was 6pm when John left Mrs. Hudson's flat. She was next to him, ready to tell him a last goodbye. When he opened the door, John saw himself few months earlier. The black car waiting for him, ready to take him to the den of Mycroft. He never came by himself. Yet, here he was… Just in front of John. In the same kind of suit. Holding the same kind of cane. It was a true specter. Maybe a nightmare. John's heart began to beat really hard. If Mycroft was there in person, something bad had happened. Then, John remembered. Sherlock was already dead. The worst had already happened. Nothing could disturb him anymore. _Wrong, John… You see but you don't observe so you can't deduce!_

John felt like he was seeing the scene from above. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move. It was just impossible. He was so confused.

After a while, Mycroft understood that he had to make the first move. So, he walked into them. He stopped right in front of Mrs. Hudson.

- This dearest housekeeper, he said.

Then, he kissed her on her two cheeks.

- I'm just the landlady, dear, answered Mrs. Hudson, chuckling.

John looked at the both of them, puzzled. What happened to Mycroft? He hadn't ever been so nice. Was he in an alternative universe? Maybe Sherlock was still there in this world…

- John, said Mycroft, with his old cold voice. _That was usual._

Mycroft held out his hand to John, who was particularly slow to understand. Sherlock would have hated that. During the shaking, John recovered his mind. What was the last thing he had said to Mycroft? Something bad, really bad. John blushed a bit even if he knew he hadn't had to be ashamed of him, of his own feelings.

- I love your texts, John, said Mycroft in a funny voice. They made me think about my brother. He really influence you…

John laughed and Mycroft smiled with all his teeth. Just like that, their relationship was friendly again.

After they said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, John and Mycroft climbed into the car. With his right index, Mycroft pushed a button which was hidden in the ceiling. He turned to John.

- We're going to be alright and quiet now, told Mycroft. I know you have a lot of questions, John. But I have some information of my own. After that, I'll do my best to answer.

- Alright, I'm listening, answered John totally focused.

- Above all, I'm really sorry for the texts. I couldn't answer. It was a matter of life. I know you'll forgive me. As you already understand, the death of Ronald Adair is more important than it seems. This is not a business for the police. I'm sorry for Lestrade. I handle that case. Adair hadn't been killed by a terrorist. I know that's a theory the Commissioner is fond of. But of course, it's just a fantasy of the old man. Actually, Adair's murderer is a dangerous criminal. The most dangerous criminal the Earth had carried.

- I don't think so, whispered John.

- I perfectly know what I'm saying, John.

- So, if you know who he is, why don't you arrest him? Said John bitterly.

Now, he got angry.

- We don't know his name, neither his face.

- How could you know it's him, then? I don't get it.

- I can't tell. You just have to trust me on this. We're looking for him for months now. We are closer than ever. Because we know Adair met him just before the murder. He was on Downing Street.

- It can't be the Prime Minister!?

- I can't say a lot, but there was a secret meeting on Downing Street the night of the murder with the most important persons of the government. We already knew that our mysterious enemy had infiltrated the highest authority.

- Why did he killed Adair?

- We don't really know for sure but some clever people are working on it.

- If only he was there, said John.

Mycroft didn't answer. For a bit, they both looked out their windows. The car was driving. Famous landscape kept going. John remembered that road… It wasn't possible. Not now.

- I told you the investigation began months ago, started Mycroft again, ready to go there. In fact, it began a year and a half ago.

John did the math in his head.

- Sherlock wasn't dead so… Did he know?

- Of course. We worked together on it.

- Why didn't you two tell me?

- Because it was dangerous, John for both of you. You could have been killed.

- Except someone did kill Sherlock. And it wasn't your mysterious guy. And HE was the most dangerous criminal of the Earth…

- He was a psychopath, that's sure. But in a matter of fact, our mysterious guy, as you said, worked with Moriarty…

- What?

- I'm sorry to tell you those things like that. But there is more. We knew that you were all in danger, John. Sherlock couldn't live with that because for him it was his fault. So he came to me with a plan. Or maybe it was mine…

The next few seconds, John heard things he didn't truly understand. The sentences of Mycroft had begun to be a succession of words. But all those words didn't mean anything together. Mycroft had to tell it a few times before John began to get it. Sherlock had fake his own death. Sherlock had lied. But…

- Sherlock… alive… and we are at St Bart's.

- In fact, said Mycroft softly, he is waiting for you in the Morgue with Molly and Adair's body, just right now.

John didn't answer to Mycroft. He just opened the door. Then, he began to run.

**Your turn to write: please review!**


	3. Who are you

**Chapter 3: Who are you and what did you do to my best friend?**

_St Bart's, Wednesday, April 3__rd__, 7pm_

The last words of Mycroft were echoing in John's head as he was running. "He is waiting for you in the Morgue". That wasn't possible. John couldn't believe it. He had to see the man with his own eyes. As he came into the hospital, John remembered the last time he saw Sherlock, on that bloody roof… He felt again in his chest the same pain he had felt then. Sherlock was so far from him and he didn't want him to move. His hand was held out as he wanted to touch him. That was so heartbreaking. Then, he visualized the blood, all over Sherlock's face. That wonderful face wasn't made to bleed. It was so wrong. It felt so wrong. Perhaps, because it was. Sherlock always told him he didn't observe. Maybe that was right. In fact, when John saw his friend dead, he kind of loose his mind, he couldn't see, he couldn't understand. He just flooded in feeling. Feeling which overwhelmed him. But, what if it felt wrong because it wasn't true… John had to clear it up.

Sherlock was looking at Adair body. In fact, he had practically his nose on it. He moved fast, as usual. He was so happy to finally work again. This last year had been very difficult… He had just one mission: to observe. He had no right to investigate. Not really. Because he had to keep a low profile. Mycroft words. It was so far from Sherlock's temperament. Sherlock was a show-off. That's what he did. But most of all, the cases were his way to keep living. Sherlock always said he was bored. Of course it was true. But a part of him knew he also needed cases because he didn't want to think about things like life or feeling. So he had to get busy. Otherwise, he was a bit (or maybe a lot) self-destructive. That was the dark side of genius. Before he knew John, Sherlock drowned himself in a lot of work. He didn't want to think that he was alone because he knew it was true (and surely it was depressing) but also because he didn't want him to think that. That was kind of hard. Hard to explain. Hard to live with. Sherlock's brain was so complicated. Especially when he wanted to control his heart. When John came into his life, Sherlock changed gradually. Ha was making progress or maybe he was just regressing. The thing is, he didn't even think about that because John filled his life and it was good like that. But then, with his fake death, he lost not only John, but also the only way he knew to control himself, to control his brain, to control his life actually. Seeing a dead body again, so close, was very great. He could have jumped for joy. Except he had something on his mind, which prevented him to really enjoy. That was so un-Sherlock. But it was also too important…

- Then he asked me to marry him, said Molly with a smile. Now that you and John are going to be back together, I know it's the perfect timing to do it.

Sherlock raised his head. What did she say? He hadn't heard anything except the name of John. He did a quick smile to Molly. Perhaps it was enough…

- Don't play that game with me, Sherlock. I know you didn't listen any word of what I say. That's not a big deal. I get used to it. Especially since the months we spent. Talking to you is kind of reassuring. You're like a pet: I talked to you, you didn't care, but I cleared my mind. And that's so great.

- I'm happy to be your pet, Molly Hooper.

Molly blushed a bit and she laughed. She couldn't have talked to Sherlock like that two years ago. But his death had changed everything. She was the one he came to look for help. At first, she was happy to be the one Sherlock chose. But, if she had to be honest, she already knew that nothing could have happened between them. She saw the look of Sherlock when he watched John. There was so much feeling in that look... Of course, at the beginning of the "death's year and a half" she had still a crush on Sherlock. He had always a strange effect on her, he was so brilliant. But, during that year, she began to know him better because she saw him a lot. She knew he was so depressed and he didn't want to talk or see Mycroft. So it was her, again. That year changed everything between them. She began to take confidence when he was there. Maybe because she can finally see and understand how much he was vulnerable how much he was human. People always saw what Sherlock wanted to show them. Seeing him very often, and sometimes in really bad mood and shape had changed that. So, Sherlock and Molly began to become friends, real friends. Sherlock gave her the best he could, seeing the situation. And Molly understood that she didn't want anything else. Actually, Sherlock was meant to be with only one person… Only one could understand him. Only one could deal with him, bear him… The one who was coming into the Morgue, just right now…

Molly saw him the first. She froze. At the same time, Sherlock turned round because he felt the man coming. Not scientifically: he didn't hear him, he didn't smell him. He just felt him in his heart…

The two men stared at each other for just a second.

That was too much for John so he fainted.

That was too much for Sherlock so he cut himself off in his own brain and every thought began to follow on.

…

_Sherlock's mind Palace._

John. Memories of the last few months. John who cried when he came to their flat again. John's screams every night as he had bad dreams, no, nightmares. John's words he told him every Sunday. His pain, every day of his life since he left him…

Then, the only memory he had always kept far away from his thought. The memory he couldn't bear.

- John, you have to talk to me, said Ella Thompson, his therapist. You have made such improvement in two years. You can't give up.

- I just don't want to talk about that.

- You have to say it. Just once.

- You already told me that.

- Yet, you didn't do it. A therapy is useless if you don't want to get better.

- Then, maybe I just have to stop.

- We can take things differently. Talk me about Sherlock…

- Don't say his name.

- Why?

- Because it's too hard.

- Why that?

- …

- Tell me something about him. Just one thing. What did you like the most about him?

- …

- Come on, John. I know you can do that.

- Actually, I can't. I give up, Ella. I'm sorry.

John left the office on that. He had tears in his eyes and on his cheeks.

Just after he closed the door, John whispered a thing that stopped Sherlock's heart.

…

Sherlock opened his eyes. The man who probably, who obviously loved him was right in front of him. This man had just fainted and Sherlock didn't do anything because, just like that, Sherlock's brain became blank.

A first…

- Sherlock, do something, shouted Molly.

That was the third time she yelled. And finally, Sherlock seemed to understand. She was next John's body.

- Take the bottle of alcohol inside this cupboard.

Sherlock moved very fast. He took the bottle. Then he headed towards John. He pushed Molly a little. It was the sign he wanted to take care of it. John. His blogger. Only he really mattered. Molly waited a bit, then when she saw that John opened his eyes briefly, she left the room. Molly wasn't stupid. They needed a moment together.

John awoke gradually with the sound of Sherlock's voice. And now, his brain understood it wasn't a dream.

- John, John …

Sherlock sounded so worried. That was heartbroken.

Sherlock was closer to his face than ever. He held his head. It seemed so right. John blinked few times, staring at the detective carefully.

- What did you do to your body and your face, bloody bastard…?

That was the last thing Sherlock expected to hear. But, thanks to John, Sherlock could take a deep breath. Even if he wouldn't admit it, he was totally freaked by their reunion. He had imagined it every day since he left John. He pictured each possibility. But, never, John took it well. So, he was kind of surprised.

Sherlock helped John to stand up.

- Are … you … alright, asked Sherlock after a bit.

John was gripping the table next to them.

He turned round. Then, without warning, he punched Sherlock on his face. Really hard. Sherlock staggered.

- How dare you did that to me? Told John.

Sherlock gasped. Even if he pictured the moment a lot of time, he never found what to say…

- How dare you, Sherlock?

- I … I'm sorry John. I really am. But I had to. Mycroft told you…

- But I prefer to hear it from your mouth, Sherlock.

The way John was saying his name was so hard to hear. There was bitterness, sadness. And Sherlock didn't know what to do about it. Of course, he had to apologize. But, now, he needed his John back.

John began to walk all around the room. Seeing Sherlock's face was quite difficult. He dreamed that moment a lot. But he didn't expect to be overwhelmed by those contradictory feelings. He wanted to: punch him (again) but stroke his prominent cheekbones (more prominent than he remembered), tell him to go to hell but take him in his arm, force him to say what he really thought, why he was gone, what he felt but he was scared of what he could hear. So he walked. And he didn't speak. And he tried not to think. But it was impossible. There were too many questions, fluttered in that room. John was afraid of those questions, afraid of his own feelings. One thing could help him to get better, the first thing that really helped him when he got back from Afghanistan. The only thing which made him smile. He needed his Sherlock back. So he knew exactly what to do.

- Ronald Adair, hum… Tell me what you found about the body?

Sherlock looked at John, a spark on his eyes. A spark of hope. A spark of gratitude. He perfectly knew what John was doing. Of course, the two men had to talk about what happened. But none of them was ready to deal with it. They needed some time to get used to the situation. They weren't the type of guys who showed their feelings. Time was necessary to learn how to do that. They wanted to. They needed to. But for now, talking about the case was their safety valve.

Still looking at John, Sherlock began to walk around the body. He told John what he already knew – and he knew it – but John had always loved to see this kind of dance, this kind of trance where Sherlock's brain was moving fast.

- Definitely M's work, concluded Sherlock.

John raised his eyebrows.

- M? Asked John.

- He wasn't supposed to know, said Mycroft, coming into the Morgue… Brother.

Mycroft nodded.

- He has the right to know, Mycroft, told Sherlock bitterly. We agreed that if I come back I could tell him everything. In the matter of fact, we need John. I need John.

John gasped and blushed a bit. Why was he blushing? Did he hear well? Did Sherlock say he needed him? Impossible. Who was that man?

- That's true John, said Mycroft. We need you. You see, my dear brother has a plan to catch M… As usual!

Sherlock looked at Mycroft angrily. Their tacit agreement between John and him was thin. He didn't need his brother to ruin everything. Actually, Mycroft seemed quite happy to put his foot on his mouth.

- Did you see what you want Sherlock? Asked Mycroft without noticing the behavior of his brother.

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

- I think you should go now. Put your disguise on. The car is waiting for you. Text me when you'll be ready.

John seemed puzzled. As usual when the two brothers spoke together, he didn't understand anything.

- What was that about? He finally asked after Mycroft's departure.

Sherlock didn't answer. He was still pissed. Besides, he was thinking. After a while, Sherlock went out of the room. And John followed. That's how everything began between them. And it wasn't ready to end.

Sherlock stopped in Molly's office. He dressed with all this stuffs. Then, John recognized him… The homeless guy. No way… That wasn't Sherlock.

- What the hell, Sherlock. Were you following me?

Sherlock looked at John, worried. What was he going to say?

He waited then he said the only thing his mouth wanted to tell.

- Of course, John, I checked on you every day. How could I live without my blogger?

John was stunned. So, Sherlock was really protected him after all. Dammit, he wanted to ask him so much.

They walked to the car in silence. But, as soon as they were inside, alone, John turned to Sherlock.

- Where are we going?

- My place.

- Where is that?

- A small hotel. You'll see.

The two men looked at each other for a long time. Few times, John cleared his throat and moved his hand, quickly.

- Was I really in danger? He asked.

Sherlock seemed perplex. Again, it wasn't the question he expected. John was surprising him a lot today.

- Yes you were. And you still are.

- Why now?

Sherlock understood immediately that second question. Finally, their minds were going to be on the same page.

- As I said, I need you. It's the moment to take action. And I need you for that.

- You never need me before.

- You're wrong. That just what I wanted you to believe.

The words had split out of Sherlock's mouth without any warning. But they were so true. Sherlock was rarely honest with his feeling. Not like that, though. It was weird to hear but also really good.

John was uncomfortable. He looked out the window.

Next to him, Sherlock was moving his arms, his legs very fast. Was he already bored?

The car wasn't driving very fast. After he regained composure, John decided to speak again.

- So, you didn't tell me why you were so sure it was M?

- Two things. First of all, the gunshot and so the bullet. I already examined some of M's murders. Same riffle. It's a special one. He has been modified by his owner. He can shoot from a very long distance with small-caliber. In fact, his weapon is pretty famous in the middle.

- Why?

- Because nobody has found a way to do the same.

- And no one has ever seen the owner of this riffle.

- No it's pretty much a legend. A true one, indeed. The gun has a name. I think you may hear it. The Red Chevron.

- That's the one. Of course I've already heard about it. Every military man knew.

- The legend says that the man who created the gun is the only one who can pull the trigger and he never missed the target. The man was so gifted with his gun that he began to gain every level of the commandment and become the most important man in the army. That's why he called his riffle Red Chevron. Because chevron means…

- Grade in French.

- Well done John. It appeared that M is a really good shooter and also an important man in the government.

- Mycroft said he is the most important criminal he knows.

Sherlock nodded in silence.

John was lost in his mind for a bit.

- You told me there were two reasons. What the second one?

- M left a note on all his dead bodies.

- Lestrade didn't tell me that.

- Of course, he didn't know. Mycroft was there before everyone else. You know who he is…

- The government, I remember… So M is also very proud of himself.

- Seems so.

- That's a good way to catch him.

- Except he is intelligent.

- You're more.

Sherlock smiled. John, his good John. Always so confident about him.

- Yes, Sherlock, I believe in you.

- Since when you read the mind?

- Since you left me.

John didn't want to be mean. His words went out in the wrong way.

- I mean, he said embarrassed.

- I know what you mean…

- I'm sorry.

Sherlock hit the window of the car. Was he impatient or pissed? John was sick of not asking questions. Alright, their agreement wasn't working.

- What, Sherlock?

- You're not the one who is supposed to be sorry.

- Why do you tell that?

- Not now, John.

- We have to talk about this.

- I now that. But let's try to figure out when the case will be over.

- You promise?

- Of course I do.

- You won't go away to avoid me?

Sherlock smiled.

- I promise. I saw your pain every day John. I won't let you live that again.

And just like that, Sherlock returned on his mind Palace, leaving John stunned. Before, he would have never thought that Sherlock was capable of seeing him or anyone else in pain. He knew him better now. And obviously, the months they live apart had changed both of them. John was quite impatient to have this conversation with Sherlock. Worried but impatient. This could change everything…

Few minutes later, the car stopped in front of a shabby building. Sherlock had lived in an unwelcome place. That's for sure. Sherlock's eyes were still closed. Without thinking, John put his hand on his arm, just to inform him. Sherlock froze. So, John took off his hand quickly. He didn't do that on purpose. It was just an old habit. But, something really odd happened after, something un-Sherlock. He grabbed John's hand and put it again on his arm. So, Sherlock liked that contact. He didn't open his eyes in all the process. Was he embarrassed? John didn't ask. Rather he didn't have the time to do it. Because, in one second, Sherlock was out of the car.

Quickly, John followed him. They walked until Sherlock's door. Again, Sherlock froze. His behavior was so weird…

Sherlock opened the door and John could have fainted again. The room was a mess. John's eyes grew. Maybe Sherlock's life had been as difficult as his own. In a different way. Sherlock saw what was happening in John's brain. He didn't say anything. He just began to take off his clothes.

John goggled at him. What was happening? They agreed that they had to talk before anything else. Once and again, Sherlock noticed John's look.

- I need to take a shower, he explained before he went to the bathroom.

What was John thinking? How could he believe that something could happen like that? The man in front of him was Sherlock… Nevertheless, Sherlock had acted pretty weird since they met, so John's head was a real mess. Dirtier than Sherlock's flat.

- John, send a text to Mycroft, yelled Sherlock from the bathroom. Tell him to send a car at 11pm tonight.

At least, that hadn't change.

- Where is your phone Sherlock?

- In my jacket, as usual.

- You didn't even tell me what the plan is.

- You're going to find out when our guest will be there.

- What guest?

But the shower already began to flow. That was quite reassuring to be with Sherlock, like old-time. He was always in his head, and John tried to follow him. But it was too difficult and John understood everything just at the end of the story when Sherlock was already on another case…

John took the phone from Sherlock's pocket. Same old one. He sent the text while he was inspecting the flat. Nothing in the fridge… Just some tea. John began to prepare it. When was the last time Sherlock had a proper meal? Never, maybe…

John had too much thing in his hands when he sat on the couch so he made a wrong movement. The phone fell on the floor. When John grabbed it to check if it was okay, he saw something unexpected. It was the draft: all the texts Sherlock had written but hadn't sent. John was a bit curious. He went to the last one of the list, which was in fact the elder. Few seconds later, he understood that all the drafts were for him… The first one dated from the day Sherlock died. John began to read but there was so many text. Sherlock had always loved texting. It was heartbreaking. Tears began to fill John's cheeks. But he was still reading.

Then, the sound of the shower stopped. Quickly, John shut the phone and looked anywhere for a tissue. The place was such a mess that he didn't know where to look. When he finally found something he could use, John saw at the same time, the last thing he wanted to see in Sherlock's flat. He took it and sat on the couch, again.

When Sherlock went out of the bathroom, John was looking at him, quite angry. What had happened?

- When did you begin to smoke again? Asked John with a cold voice.

Sherlock didn't take the trouble to answer because at the same moment, someone knocked on the door.

Sherlock and John looked at each other. There were so many feeling between them. So many unspoken words. John was pissed because he really wanted to know what happened with Sherlock all that time.

Sherlock understood exactly what was happening in John's head because he felt the same way. Of course, he had the chance to see John during their separated months. But it was just observation, sometimes listening. He wasn't in his head, though. There were so many things he wanted to understand about John's behavior. Even if he didn't have to. Sherlock was so confused. His reason told him one thing, his heart something else. That was too disturbing.

Since they met at the Morgue, Sherlock had been upset. Each time he began to speak, each time he began to make a move, he wondered if it was wise or if it was his fucking heart which wanted to speak for himself. He had to check every action he made. Of course, he failed. A lot. But John's hand in the car. That was too good. He knew it was wrong for him to feel that. But before he could recollect, the harm has been already done. Now, he was going to think about John's hand, about John's warm every time he will be alone, bored. No: just every time.

Moreover, he didn't want to disappoint John. What John told him first made him think. He wasn't going to like the style of life he kept during their separation. Even the condition of the flat has made him worried about John's thought. That was too much for Sherlock. He needed some time alone, to think. Was he overreacting? That wasn't worthy of the Great Sherlock Holmes. He perfectly knew that. But he couldn't do anything else. Actually, that was quite tiring to think about another one like that. Sherlock never experienced that. And John who wanted to talk… Sherlock didn't like that but he had made a promise. Fortunately, he had been saved by the bell. The knock of Oscar has made John forgetting to ask him again to talk. And now, here he was, his famous blogger, staring at him, torn between his need to have an explanation from Sherlock and his wish to know what was going to happen with the person behind the door. Sherlock hide a half-smile before he turned to John.

- Later, he said opening the door to their mysterious guest.

**Your turn to write, please review. I really want to know what you think about that!**


	4. Cigarette? Later

**Chapter 4: Cigarette? … Later**

_Sherlock's hotel room, Wednesday, April 3__rd__, 11pm_

John was impressed. As usual when it came to Sherlock. His plan was bloody brilliant. In fact, John didn't understand a lot. He just listened the talking of the two men. It was quite interesting but too complex for him. He heard things about interference, diffraction, laser beam, recording medium amongst others. Actually there were only the words he understood. Sherlock was used to tease him about his lack of intelligence. But sometimes, John had to admit he was quite ignorant. Nevertheless, he really enjoyed their evening. After Oscar's arrival, John forgot about the cigarettes and the feelings. At least, he left them in a corner of his head. He just enjoyed to see Sherlock working. He wasn't bored at all. And for once, he really needed someone else help. That was reassuring: Sherlock was a human.

Oscar Meunier was a nice fellow, even if he was French. John had to say his accent was quite charming, though. It wasn't like if Sherlock was interested about that. No, Oscar was a scientist specialized in holography. In fact, the most skilled man in all Europe. Sherlock wasn't satisfied with good. He wanted the best. So Sherlock had asked him to come in Britain and he had obviously agreed. Sherlock was quite famous, especially his death so it was an offer he couldn't refuse. Fortunately, Oscar spoke English very well (a necessity today) and Mycroft gave him the money (of course!). Oscar just arrived from his flight and he was already working.

- My brother's car is there for you, said Sherlock who was looking out the window. You'll be taken to a safe house and tomorrow you'll be in your new lab. We'll meet you there in the afternoon.

- That's perfect, answered Oscar. As I said before, it's an honor to work with you, Monsieur Holmes.

- L'honneur est partagé…

John's ears didn't believe it. He was also wide-eyed. Not because Sherlock spoke French: that wasn't a surprise. But that's what he said. John had understood the words (can you believe that from our silly John?). Sherlock had never said such a thing. He really had changed.

Oscar and John shook hands. Then, Oscar turned to Sherlock. He was already elsewhere, in his mind.

- He was happy to see you, said John as an excuse.

He had always done that for Sherlock because he was the one who understood social interaction in their couple. Wrong word. In their partnership. Much better.

- This way, added John.

Then, he leaded Oscar to the door.

John closed the door and turned round. Sherlock was staring at him, half in the world, and half in his own.

- Cigarette? Asked John.

Sherlock looked puzzled a bit then understood. Of course, John wasn't asking if he wanted one. Actually he would have died for just a drag. It wasn't a good time. Neither to speak about it.

- Don't want to speak. Not ready, he replied.

Before John answered, Sherlock had taken his violin and he began to play. For once, his eyes weren't out of the windows, they were set upon John.

John knew he should have been the one to be upset. But Sherlock seemed to be totally shook up, out of control. Their relationship had always worked like that. John was the one who bore Sherlock's behavior. Because he was capable of it. But especially because he wanted it. It had always been a part of his personality. He needed it. And he had found in Sherlock the ideal person to take care of. In his own way, he understood Sherlock. He had understood him at the very second he met him. When he spoke about Sherlock to others, John enjoyed to describe him as an Asperger. It was more complicated in reality. Lots of people thought that Sherlock was just a selfish git. It wasn't true though. In his own way, Sherlock had showed every day of their partnership that he cared (even if he wouldn't admit it). Sherlock had chosen John and each day he chose him again and again. John was the only one that Sherlock bore. It happened that sometimes (alright, all the time) Sherlock insulted John, he acted as he wasn't even there, but that wasn't so much to handle for John.

As a couple, and how John couldn't have seen that before, they agreed, in fact they were happy to pass on the other one's faults. Actually it wasn't such an effort.

Before the faking and fucking death, John hadn't give a thought about that. But then, he had had lots of time to figure out. It was quite obvious. And now, even if they had some things to understand and handle, John was ready to take care and help Sherlock to deal with it.

The sound of Sherlock's violin had made John full of thought. The way Sherlock was playing was wonderful and moving. John went with the flow of the violin. It was such a pleasure. After a while, John finally fell asleep.

When John woke up, Sherlock was still playing the violin. John had slept like a baby, just because he had felt Sherlock's presence next to him. Even Sherlock seemed relaxed which was surprising, seeing he hadn't slept a wink. It was a habit for Sherlock, especially when he was on a case. But, that night, it was quite different than usual. No, that time, his cases' thought were disturbed a lot by John's hand.

Without really noticing it, the two men began to act as if nothing had ever happened. There was two things quite important about their friendships. First of all, they were both used to hide their feelings. In that case, John was certainly a bit angry and hurt but after all Sherlock was alive. Second of all, as it began at first, they felt into friendship very quickly because: they had chosen each other, there was a true bond between them (they couldn't go against it, it was visceral) and well they had a common purpose. So, that's very naturally that Sherlock and John acted as before with each other.

- I'm so hungry! Said John. I'm not used to skip any meal.

- I would be happy to go out with you, John. But, in a matter of fact, I really can't. I have to stay here, Mycroft's order.

- How convenient! You could disguise yourself, you know.

- Don't have time for that game anymore…

- Git! You wouldn't do that for me.

Again, John surprised Sherlock. John left the flat, on those words. Sherlock didn't understand the mood of John. Was he angry or joking? He thought they still have to make some adjustment. Or maybe it was normal. John used to like teasing him. But, did Sherlock want things to be like before?

Sherlock took his cigarettes and one of his needle. Without shivering, Sherlock put the needle in his arm. He put it on his desk. Then, he came at the window and he began to smoke.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock was surprised again when he heard John's footsteps in the hallway. Quickly, he tidied his mess.

- If the mountain won't come to Muhammad… said John coming in, his hands full of groceries.

- Who is Muhammad and what's the matter with him and the mountain?

They stared a moment. Then, they burst out laugh.

"Sherlock seemed more peaceful now", thought John. And after some encouragement, he finally accepted to eat. A cup of tea and one slice of bacon he ate very slowly. It was still a beginning.

- My poor brain, said Sherlock when he had finished. If the case is a failure, it will be your bad, John.

- My apologize, Sherlock. Yes, I try to keep you alive. But I know what it's like to live without you, believing you're dead. I can't and I won't do that again.

Sherlock looked at John.

- I'm really sorry, he said.

- Don't be. I'll get over it. I understand you were protecting me and I'm grateful for that.

- I know I shouldn't have been sorry because it was the right thing to do. Nevertheless, I still am.

- You'll get over it too, don't worry.

- I am not.

- Liar.

Sherlock pouted. John hadn't seen him do that in a long time. That was comforting, nice, and kind of sexy. John blushed. He couldn't think about stuff like that.

- What? Asked Sherlock who evidently saw everything.

John blushed harder.

- You don't want to know.

- Wrong.

- It's boring.

- Tell me, John.

- Later. At the end of the case.

Sherlock pouted again. John caught him at his own game.

…

Few hours later, John and Sherlock were on a car. Another one from Mycroft. John knew they were on their way to the headquarters of the MI6, or at least an important place of the Secret Service. John was quite thrilled. Since he met Mycroft, he had wanted to know where he was working and where were hiding the mysteries of motherland.

John didn't know how many time they were going to pass in the car. John was thinking. Sherlock and he had agreed to wait for the questions about personal matter, but not about technical stuff and on the case. John wanted to know some things. He needed to.

- What do you want to know, John?

John rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that.

- You know you think too louder, John.

- Well, never mind. I was wondering when and how did you understand that Moriarty didn't work alone?

- I think I always knew something was wrong. I have to admit that at first I really enjoyed to play with and against Moriarty. But he was such a psycho, not a genius. I really understood that on the roof. But my brain had already figured it out. Mycroft and I knew he had partners in crime. He couldn't manage his big network without a right-hand man. But, as long as I knew him, I understood there was something weird…

- So you think Moriarty wasn't even the mastermind.

- I can't be sure but yes that's what I think, John.

John was worried about those revelations. But, for once, Sherlock was ready to talk. He had to continue to interrogate him. He would analyze it later. There was a question he wanted to ask again, though.

- Why now?

- I'm ready to set him up. We are closer to him than ever. I really want to find his identity and arrest him. I need to have my life back. Don't you see the shape in which Lestrade is? I take pity on him.

- Yeah… That would be a good idea. Since you left, he is quite not with it.

- I saw that.

- You also checked on him.

- Of course, I was following Moriarty's men.

- What I don't understand is the reason why we were still spied whereas everybody thought you were died.

- That's because they know I'm still alive. When I understood that, I also knew that I was right and that Moriarty wasn't the boss. Molly showed me his body. He was totally dead.

- Molly asked me if I wanted to see his body, not yours. I understand why now. I thought she was protective. Anyway, I didn't want to see Moriarty's body. I was afraid to damage this dead corpse. For a doctor, it's not a good thing.

- You're always let your feeling lead you, John. But I have to admit I really wanted to kill him myself.

- What he did to you, Sherlock, your reputation – I know that doesn't matter to you but it does – your entire life. I couldn't bear it.

The two men cleared their throats, they were a bit uncomfortable.

- Do you think they want to kill you for revenge? Asked John to change the subject. Is that why they are still waiting for you after more than a year?

- No. It has to be something else. After all, they already wanted me dead before Moriarty died.

- Maybe it was just Moriarty's idea. He had such a complex of intelligence towards you. I always thought it was quite personal. Everything he asked to Mycroft for example. I don't know. At first, I thought he was just attracted to you, to your genius. But, there was more than that, don't you think?

Sherlock took a minute to think about John's words. He had never seen those events from that angle. Given that he closed his own heart, his own feelings, sometimes Sherlock could miss some things. It was rare because all his cases haven't anything to do with him, his own person. John, though, wasn't like him and he got a point, a very interesting point actually. Yes, Sherlock needed John.

- Why do you need me exactly? Asked John just at that moment.

- You were a sniper, John. My plan could require a certain rifle and a good shooter.

- You didn't tell me from where he shoot, you know. Greg told me they checked every roof. Of course, he had to miss something. The shooter couldn't have been in the air. But, yet, you didn't tell me.

- John, yelled Sherlock, you are fantastic, you are amazing.

Just like that, Sherlock had an idea. John was really unbeatable as conductor of light. As he already said it before, he had the ability to stimulate his genius.

John looked at Sherlock as he was again making fun of him. Actually, he couldn't read Sherlock's mood. The detective had taken his phone.

- So, are you ready to tell me about the plan … began John.

- Quiet, John. Thinking.

Sherlock closed himself on his mind. John wasn't with him anymore.

He stayed like that for a few minutes.

- Helicopter, he finally said in a scream of victory.

Then he left the car which stopped at the exact same time. John hadn't notice anything because his eyes were fixed on Sherlock.

- Come on, John, hurry up, said Sherlock with a happy voice, from the outside of the car.

The car where they were had tinted glasses so the two men couldn't look out the windows. It didn't matter for Sherlock who seemed to have landmark even if he was blind. John, in a matter of fact, didn't pay attention because they were talking and it was too interesting. He didn't know how much they drive.

The only thing John knew was what he could see. The car had lead them into a place which was obviously a basement. Mycroft was in front of them, more iceman than ever.

- John, Sherlock, I see you two have bonded again.

- Mycroft, I see you're still so bitchy, answered John without thinking.

He blushed when he understood he said it out loud. But his point was made. And Sherlock was smiling, hard.

Mycroft nodded. He knew that John would be there to protect Sherlock. But teasing them was so tempting.

Mycroft took them into a succession of hallways: a true labyrinth. John was totally lost and Sherlock of course knew exactly where they were.

After ten minutes of walking, the three men crossed a door who lead them in a room which clearly was a lab. A huge one, full of scientist equipment. Mycroft let them few minutes to discover the place. It wasn't enough to observe all the rooms of the lab but they had a general look. Even if he didn't want to show it to his brother, Sherlock was pretty excited, as a child. He looked everywhere and he began a lots of sentence he didn't finish.

Then, Oscar arrived. He also had a big smile on his face. Mycroft left them, he had things so much important to do.

- Are you ready, Oscar asked to the men or maybe just Sherlock. Everything is settled.

- Perfect, said the detective.

John looked at him. He frowned, mentally questioning Sherlock. The man smiled.

- Later…

John rolled his eyes. "Two can play that game, Sherlock."

Oscar led them into a weird room, especially because of the equipment. John didn't know what it was. And none of them explained a thing to him. Oscar was adjusting his equipment. Sherlock was dived into his thought. And John had nothing to do.

So he began to examine the objects which were in the room. Then, he saw something he wasn't expected.

- What the hell, he said.

There was an armchair next to him. THE armchair. His own one.

- Sherlock, why is my armchair here?

- Because you need it to seat.

John looked at him, flabbergasted. What was that answer?

Then, John saw the violin of Sherlock. He hold it, tight in his hands.

- And you're going to play some violin, asked John, ironic.

- Of course, not. I'm just going to hold it. What the problem with your brain, John? We need to stay put.

- Sherlock, if you don't explain to me, how can I figure out?

- Just observe.

There was nothing to deduce, though…

- You can sit now, John, please, said Oscar.

Because he didn't know how to refuse, John obeyed. Oscar didn't say anything to Sherlock. He had already held his violin, ready to play. Except no sounds came out.

Finally, John understood what they were doing. That scene reminded him something he used to do. That was exactly how they were when Sherlock was playing the violin for him. Actually, they were posing. Not for a painting. But for the hologram. Maybe it was the method to create one. Not maybe, certainly.

For hours, Sherlock and John increased poses. Of course, Sherlock was a statue. It was more difficult for John. Especially because Sherlock repeated in the process the same sentence.

- Stop moving, John.

- Be calm.

The worst one was "Stop thinking".

How could he do that? It wasn't possible. Obviously, he was thinking. And inevitably, it was about the man in front of him. And his thought were too personal to be in his head just right now. Besides, he was certain that Sherlock could really read his mind. He didn't know how he could do that. But he did. So, John blushed. And he moved. Of course, John's thought wasn't ashamed. He was just so happy to have him back. Nevertheless, John blushed. He was uncomfortable because he was sure that Sherlock would never have such thought at that moment. Maybe, he would never have. Now, he was kind of sad. Then, he saw the anxiety in Sherlock's eyes. John grinned at him.

- John, stay put.

John's smile grew up because what he saw in Sherlock's eyes was thanks. He was such a big deal. A deal that John wanted to keep.

When Oscar was finally happy with his work, he allowed the two men to move.

- We're done, he said. I can do the rest of the work by myself.

- Mycroft will take you to the flat Saturday morning, if you think you'll be ready, said Sherlock to the man.

- No problem.

Sherlock nodded and left the room.

- Thank for what you're doing, said John, whatever it is…

Oscar laughed.

- You're a funny guy, John. I understand why Sherlock choose you.

- We're not a … Never mind.

John followed Sherlock. Why did he always want to explain himself? That was none of their business, actually. Besides, he didn't even know what they really were.

When John reached Sherlock in the hallway, his friend was smiling.

- What?

- Why didn't you tell him that you weren't gay? I thought it was your favorite sentence!

- Of course, you were listening! Said John.

- So…

- Well, tell me what you think?

If he had to tell, John could have sworn that he saw Sherlock's cheeks blushing. Sherlock turned round, saying:

- I didn't like the guys you tried to date last year.

It was enough for John to blush, again. He hadn't thought about it. That was so embarrassing. For God's sake, why did he have to watch him…?

The round trip in car was quite silent. John didn't know what to say, actually. He didn't know what Sherlock meant by his "I didn't like the guys". Why that? Was he jealous? No way. Not from Sherlock.

When he left the car, John told Sherlock he had some shopping to do for the evening. He was completely hungry. They didn't eat since their breakfast. Sherlock, of course, breathed out loudly: he was a bit exasperated each time John wanted to feed him. And it was a lot. Too much for him, in any case.

Sherlock left the car behind the hotel, as usual. After all, he had to be careful.

For once, he didn't want to be alone. Yet, John had left him for a thing so dull. John seemed to want to run away from him. Why, for God's sake, did he have to be so clever? Maybe he could put things right with John. But what to do? As soon as he came into the hotel room, Sherlock knew exactly what.

Almost one hour later, John was walking inside the room. He could have drop his packages. The room was tidy and clean.

- What the fuck, Sherlock. How did you do that?

- I thought you didn't like to sleep in a messed room.

- Well, you never do that Sherlock! Thank you very much.

Sherlock looked away.

- I always believed you didn't know how to tidy, said John in a smile. But in fact, you're quite efficient, as everything else.

- It's just so boring…

- I know. That's why I appreciate it a lot. I didn't expect that I was going to sleep here tonight.

Sherlock looked at John worried.

- I presume… you were…

John didn't like to see Sherlock embarrassed, so he added:

- I'm happy to stay here, Sherlock. That's not what I meant.

Yes, that was awkward.

- At least, I'm going to make you sleep.

That time, Sherlock looked stunned. Again, John's words were ambiguous. Actually, everything both have said since they met again were equivocal. Sherlock didn't like it. No, that was a lie. He loved it. But he couldn't deal with that. That wasn't him. To tell the truth, he wasn't supposed to understand ambiguity. He never showed it. Only John knew he did. He saw it in his eyes.

- You will take the bedroom, said Sherlock.

- I can't.

- Why?

- You have to sleep.

- I won't. I don't need it.

- Don't be childish, Sherlock. Did you see your face? It's awful.

- Thank you, John. I really like your compliment.

- I didn't say you were ugly. I mean… ugh… You know what I mean.

- Yes. But I like to see you struggle.

Sherlock laughed.

- Git…

Sherlock laughed harder.

- Anyway, you're going to sleep tonight, I swear to you.

Sherlock pouted.

- Don't do that face to me. That doesn't affect me.

- Who is the liar now, John?

John flushed.

- Cigarettes? He asked in a grin.

Sherlock glowered. Was John going to forget it?

- Don't count on it. I'm going to prepare the meal. Until I come back, you can figure out what you're going to say.

- I will tell you everything if you don't make me eat.

- No way, Sherlock. No way. You're going to regret to have me back in your life, I swear.

John left the room for the kitchen. 'Never' thought Sherlock, 'I would never regret it'.

Thirty minutes later, John brought two plates. He placed them on the table, which was now completely empty. Sherlock was lying on the couch, his eyes closed. Even if he faked his sleep, he was still pouting.

- The funny thing, Sherlock, is that you perfectly know that I'm aware you don't sleep.

In a second, Sherlock got off the ground and he sat on the couch in his own way: his legs huddled up against his chest.

- So, what's your answer, Sherlock?

- Can't, too personal.

- Sherlock?

John was insistent.

- I'm sorry, I'm eating.

- You know I'm not going to give up. And don't eat slowly on purpose.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John began to eat. He let Sherlock few minutes to get composure back. After a while, Sherlock finally decided to say something.

- You know, I really fight it.

- I'm sure of that, Sherlock. I know you. I supposed you were bored?

- Hmm.

- When was your first?

- I really started again three months after I jump.

- Why?

It was hard for Sherlock to say it. Hard because he had to admit he really had feelings. Also hard because he knew John wasn't going to take it well.

- Because I thought you were moving on.

John frowned.

- How so?

- I don't want to say it, John. Can't you remember?

- Maybe, if I knew the exact date…

- Saturday, the 14th of April 2012, 10pm. Just one thing to say: don't go out with Harry ever!

Sherlock let John the time to recollect. Then, the two men fell into a hard memories, for both of them.

…

John and Harry were walking into a bar.

- I really don't think it's a good idea, Harry.

- Come on John, you have to get over it. Please, for me.

- We could have had a night at home. Not in a bar.

- John, your home isn't really warm. Coming in a bar is different, though. Tell yourself, you can do what you want here. Something you have never done before. Something which won't matter in your life.

John shrugged.

- When did you have your last drink? Asked Harry.

John gasped.

- I should ask you the same question, Harry. You're too comfortable with your alcohol problem.

- Don't be rude, John. Let just say tonight doesn't matter.

- That's too easy.

- What if I promise you that I won't drink: could you enjoy your night?

- Maybe. But don't break your promise.

- That's a deal.

Even if she didn't drink, Harry was a party girl. Few minutes after they arrived, she had already met a bunch of people and they were dancing, talking, laughing.

John stayed at the bar. After his first drink, he found himself relaxing. It was really too easy to drink. As a doctor, John knew it wasn't wise but what could he say? Harry was right. He needed a night off.

John multiplied the drink until a man sat next to him. Quickly they began to talk. There was something in this guy, which was quite irresistible. John wasn't attracted. He was not gay, alright. But, this theory took a hit when the man – what was his name again – who seemed to be turned on by John, moved closer. John didn't do anything to make him stop. Actually, he was encouraging, without even noticing it. This little game lasted few minutes until John found himself in the arms of the man who was kissing him. It wasn't so much different from the kiss of a girl simply because he had never kissed someone he really loved. So it was just a casual kiss. Why did he have to make a fuss of being gay or straight? He wasn't either. He was just a man who had no love. Or at least, had lost it…

After the kiss, John excused himself. He left the bar without telling anything to Harry. He went home and just cried his eyes out.

…

Even if they thought about the same night, the two men saw it in a different way. John knew the ins and outs. Sherlock had just been a witness…

- I was there the all-time… said Sherlock when he understood that John had finished to remember.

John took a deep breath, decided to give to his friend a piece of his own heart. Even if it was hard to admit it.

- He had your black curls, Sherlock.

After a while, Sherlock turned to John. He had a mournful voice:

- I need some, John, can I get some?

John couldn't refuse to Sherlock something he needed so badly. And, he had asked him so kindly and kind of desperately. Besides, John needed it to.

- Make it two, then.

Sherlock looked at John and made a half-smile.

That night, Sherlock and John slept together, on the couch. It wasn't sexy, it wasn't even touchy-feely. It was just two friends (and so much more) who needed each other. All began with Sherlock lying on the couch, his head near John's knees. He was such a child sometimes and he needed comfort. John gave it to him, stroking his beautiful black curls. Little by little, Sherlock's head was on John's knees. Then, they felt asleep, practically in the arms of each other.

**Please, please, please: review! I need to know what you think about that!**


	5. The calm before the storm

It's an unrivaled pleasure to be read. Thanks for reviewing, faving, alerting…

...

**CHAPTER 5: The calm before the storm**

_Sherlock's hotel room, Friday, April__5__th__, 9am_

"Waking up in the arm of your best friend wasn't really awkward. Waking up in the arm of Sherlock Holmes was actually perfect. Even if it was on a tiny couch. Alright, that was kind of embarrassing. No! It was amazing. Let just say, it was confusing. For both of us, I think. Even though, Sherlock didn't seem to be embarrassed at all. As it was totally natural. It felt natural, that was true. But dammit, it was Sherlock. I was truly happy to see that Sherlock wake up with a peaceful look and a smile. Yes, a smile. No kidding! I think it was the first time that he slept during a case… What am I going to do now?"

John was still lying on the couch. Sherlock was standing in front of him, lost in his mind. "Is he thinking what I'm thinking" wondered the doctor. No way! Or maybe. But if he was, he didn't act like it.

- Shower, said Sherlock.

"Can I come with you?" John blushed. Silly, silly doctor. If Sherlock acted like if nothing had happened, it's because nothing had, for him. That's why he acted normally. Normally, for Sherlock, though.

John couldn't bear to be the one who was bothered by the situation. Because in fact he wasn't bothered, he was just confused. So, he decided to act normally too. Besides, they have decided to not talk about personal stuffs right now. But John intended to put that night on the table (manner of speaking) during their Big Speech. John stood up. As Sherlock was naked under his shower (blushed, again), he was going to prepare the breakfast. "If I want to get over this day, I need to stop thinking things like that". John managed to stop his thought for at least three minutes. Just the time for the water to heat up. Just the time for the water to boil literally, as John was inside figuratively.

When John finally took the breakfast in the living room, Sherlock was already dressed up. As handsome as ever. "Dammit John…" Sherlock was sitting on the couch and he looked at John's two plates as it was a personal torture.

- Again, John… he said, rolling his eyes.

- Sherlock, one meal a day isn't enough. And you perfectly know it…

His first sentence and he didn't blush… Good job Johnny boy.

- One meal a week is perfectly enough, said Sherlock, pouting.

- Besides, I have to get your weight back.

- What's wrong with my weight, John? You think I'm not good-looking like that.

John couldn't resist to blush. Of course, Sherlock didn't mean to say what he said. Not like that. It was totally innocent. He thought so.

- Actually you're not.

Yes, it was a lie. Sherlock was always handsome, perfect, sexy… Even if he was skin and bones. But if John had to lie to get his point, he was ready to do it.

- I always thought you believed I was good-looking, no matter what.

Oh my! Was Sherlock flirting?

- Don't go there, Sherlock, said John who was now totally lost with their talk and his thought.

- Why? What the matter? It's just a fact, John.

"Not for me."

Yes, Sherlock was totally innocent. But John wasn't.

- Just the tea, said Sherlock.

John gave him the cup but hold it in his hand. Sherlock frowned.

- Only if you eat that bacon first.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and it was really hard to not laugh. Actually, John did.

- Stop making fun of me, John or I'm not going to eat and drink anything.

- You're such a child.

- And you like me that way.

Again! That was too much for John to handle. He blushed. Was Sherlock always like that or was he overanalyzing? Anyway, Sherlock was right. John did like him that way. So, as a parent with his child (that thought was kind of disturbing) John gave up. He gave him the cup and let him do what he wanted to do, as usual.

After that, the two men were plunged into their mind. They weren't speaking but the silence wasn't awkward between them. It never was.

- Go take your shower, said Sherlock after a while.

He had finished his tea and had waited for John to finish his breakfast. Now, that it was done, he began to be excited. For no reason. Apparently. He jumped off the couch, as he was speaking.

- Why? Asked John who was still confused by the order of Sherlock and his bossy ton.

- Why you have to take a shower? Because it's important to be clean, I thought you know as a doctor.

- No, I mean why now?

- Because, we have to go out.

John looked at Sherlock, puzzled. John waited for a bit to Sherlock to continue. But it didn't. Why did he have to always do that?

- Where are we going? And why?

Sherlock looked at him as it was obvious.

- Home, of course. John, pay attention of what I say, please.

- Sherlock, you didn't say anything!

Sherlock looked at him as he didn't understand any of the words he had just said. Or listened.

- So, what's the plan for today…?

- Good choice of word… Because, today we're going to put our plan into action.

Sherlock was now looking for something into John's bag. John was still trying to understand these words. He didn't pay attention to Sherlock.

So when Sherlock gave him a pile of clothes with his own boxer on the top, he didn't understand at first. Then, blushed, really hard. And finally, spoke:

- But… But Sherlock… What? ... I mean… Hum.

Yes, it was more a mumbling than a proper speech… John just couldn't get those words out.

- Shower, ordered Sherlock.

- Yes, of course, answered John, still confused.

- And make it quick.

What?! Was he reading his mind now? John hope not. Because after all the feeling he had felt in the last hours, he was kind of ready to take a long shoot. Err… a long shower. If you see what I mean.

Even if it was the last clever thing to do. And John knew it. But, you know. Sherlock was alive. And what he could say? He was really happy to have him back.

John took the least time he could in the shower. When, he finally have a look on the clothes Sherlock gave him, he couldn't help but smiling. Sherlock didn't grab the first clothes he found. He actually picked them carefully: he had chosen his white and blue plaid shirt, the one of the day they met...

Sherlock was waiting for him, leant on the wall.

- I didn't think you were able to take so little time… This was obviously your shorter … shower.

- Wh…at…

Sherlock smiled. Then he took his coat and finally went to the door. John was redder than ever.

- Come on, John, don't lose our time in blushing. You know, who cares about decent?

Indeed, who cared? By the sentence, John knew in what state of mind Sherlock was. He was truly excited. About the plan. And he hated to wait when he was like that. So, John followed him, as quickly as he could.

Few minutes later, they arrived in front of the 221B Baker Street. Home. As Sherlock had said. Since they were on the cab, Sherlock was totally focused on the case, on himself, but not on John anymore. If he actually did before. Too bad. That was so hard for John to adapt himself to these continual changes in Sherlock's behavior and mind. He thought maybe he would never be able to do that. But, in a sense, it was the challenge with Sherlock. That was exhausting. But, he would never get bored. And he had always loved surprises.

Sherlock tried to open the door but it was locked. So, he ringed the bell.

- Sherlock, are you sure it's a good idea? I know Mrs. Hudson have a good heart, but yet, it's kind of shocking. Believe me.

The door opened before Sherlock could answer. The detective took his landlady/housekeeper in his arm and gave her two kisses on her cheeks.

- My dear Mrs. Hudson.

- Oh boy, she said. I couldn't believe what Mycroft was telling me. Yet, here you are. I'm so happy to see you, dear. Oh, John, come here. You must be so relieved to have your detective back.

John flushed. Why did she always have to say things like that?

John didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything.

Mrs. Hudson let the two boys came into the building. Mycroft was standing next to the stairs. Sherlock passed in front of him, without saying anything. He was already on the first landing when Mycroft told him:

- God, Sherlock, what did you do to be so excited?

As usual, Mycroft's words were ambiguous. John blushed and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

- Sorry, Mycroft, I think you understand that the things I have to do are too important to lose my time saying hello. But, as I already lost that time. Hello, Mycroft…

- Dear brother… Few days in the company of our lovely doctor, and you're already the same. I think the proverb which says that death changes everybody doesn't fit you.

John was clenching his fists. He had accepted to be friendly with Mycroft for few reasons. He couldn't stay pissed to Mycroft for the rest of his life. Then, Mycroft's eyes were a remembering of Sherlock's. Finally, Mycroft had said such a nice word (for Mycroft) about Sherlock. But now, that. How could he speak about Sherlock's death like that? That was unbearable. Every piece of anger that John had kept inside of him was about to blow up.

In one second, Sherlock was next to him, his hand on his left fist.

- John, he said in a soft voice.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. That was new: Sherlock was trying to calm John down.

- Or maybe the proverb is actually right.

Every word that Mycroft said was equivocal and yes, kind of nasty. John couldn't bear that because what Sherlock and he had was everything except nasty. That was just beautiful.

- Stop it right now, Mycroft, said Sherlock, his eyes still in John's.

- I was just trying to be friendly, replied Mycroft.

- Boys, said Mrs. Hudson. Please. Mycroft, don't you have something more important to do than bothering your little brother. Come in the kitchen. You haven't finished your tea.

- Of course, Mrs. Hudson. Of course. I think these two men need some time alone.

Mycroft came into the kitchen, Sherlock's glower on him.

- Why don't you let me punch him in the face?

Sherlock's hand was still on John's, as they didn't even notice it, as if it was totally natural. Sherlock smiled.

- That's exactly what he wants you to do. And I won't let you stoop to his level.

- He speaks of us as if we were doing some dirty things. I won't let him flout what we have. I mean…

- I know what you mean… Mycroft perfectly knows what string he has to pull to make people react. That's his game and you know it.

John nodded. He hadn't got it over with Mycroft, though. As he remembered the exact word of Mycroft, he turned around to punch the wall. Their squeezing was over and immediately John regretted his fit of rage.

- How dare he speak about your death like that? In the first place, he is the one who released Moriarty. He is the one who told him everything about you.

- Except he didn't know everything, John…

Sherlock's ton was kind of strange, as he wanted to say something without say it out loud, as he was nostalgic maybe. John stared at Sherlock because he didn't understand what those words meant. But, the shadow in Sherlock's eyes had already disappeared.

- Besides, we agreed about Moriarty's release, John. That was actually my idea. We needed him out to find all his partners…

John looked disappointed. He hadn't thought about it. Sherlock's words were like a stabbing in his chest. He turned around, ready to go out.

- Don't think that, John, said Sherlock with the same soft voice.

- How could you even know what I'm thinking, Sherlock. You're not a mind reader. You're not in my head.

- Yes, I am. I mean… I am now. You're angry and hurt because you think I didn't tell you those things because I don't trust you. It's not true.

- Whatever!

Sherlock knew that John was still pissed and hurt but they couldn't handle it right now. He needed John now.

- Later? He asked in a tiny voice.

His eyes were begging, John couldn't refuse him that.

- Later, he agreed.

- So, let's go to our flat, said Sherlock with his excited voice, again.

John froze. Of course, he wanted to go there but he wasn't sure that he could handle it. Problem was, he didn't want to tell Sherlock. He knew Sherlock needed to go to their flat. He needed to be focused on the case. And, since last night, he wasn't really focused. Not as usual.

John followed Sherlock in the stairs. Sherlock was running. But, John, poor John, began to have his leg's pain back. Oh yes, it was totally psychosomatic. With difficulty, John reached the floor. He didn't want to look at Sherlock in the eyes because he knew that he was watching.

- What's wrong, John? He said with a worried voice.

- I'm sorry Sherlock, you have to go there alone. I know I can't handle that.

- Of course, you can.

- My all body is painful. I don't want to slow you down. I'm going to join Mrs. Hudson downstairs.

Before he could make a move, Sherlock was in front of him. His two hands on John's face. He wanted to force him to look him in the eyes. John's heart stopped. He didn't know that Sherlock had enough patience in him to do that.

- I need you in there, John. Alright?

Sherlock's face was so close to John's. John could have kissed him, so easily. But it wasn't the good time. Besides, John found in those beautiful eyes, which were for the moment gray, the strength that he needed.

- Okay, Sherlock. I'm going to try.

Sherlock turned around. Then he began to open the door. It was slow because he wanted to hear John's breath, even the beating of his heart. He would have known if it was too much. But, John stand close and stay put. Sherlock had always admired John's strength. He had a lack of self-esteem and confidence, but he was brave. Sherlock knew that being here brought him a lot of memories. But he was sure that John can handle that. He knew John. And John could do anything for him.

Maybe the biggest shock both received was to see that the flat was still exactly the same. Nothing had changed. In one look, Sherlock saw that everything was in place: his tidied mess, his experiments in the kitchen, even his laptop. John hadn't breathed since he got in there. The first thing he saw was the yellow man's face. Then, the skull. Their two armchairs. Even the union jack pillow. Everything. And every time he set his eyes on an element of the living room, then the kitchen, his head was full of memories. He didn't even know where Sherlock was. John needed this time alone. Now that he knew that Sherlock was well alive. God, he had missed that flat a lot. He had missed living with Sherlock. He had missed Sherlock's mess. Even the parts of human's bodies in the fridge. Everything was still there, untouched, except of course the food. Mrs. Hudson had cleaned up the flat so regularly that he had the sensation to come into a sanctuary. It was kind of a sanctuary. Theirs.

The only room that John was quite unhappy to see was his bedroom. Because the room was empty. Except the furniture, of course. But there was no personal stuff. Mrs. Hudson had packed everything for him. And now, all his stuffs were on his tiny room he haven't seen in two days. He didn't even remember that he had another flat elsewhere. His home was here, near Sherlock.

After almost thirty minutes of recollecting and reconnecting, John was ready to find Sherlock and to listen to him.

John found Sherlock in his bedroom, looking out the window.

- I see you can handle much more than you're thinking, John.

Focus and bossy Sherlock was back…

- So, sorry I needed some time to get used to it. What are you doing?

- Observation.

- On?

- M's men.

- Are they here? Are we in danger here?

- Maybe a little, he answered in a smile.

Then, he turned back. John's eyes were full of worry.

- I don't see the men yet so I don't think we are in danger. Anyway, M likes when the job is well done. So, I don't think, he is going to show today.

- What if he showed during the night? What are we going to do?

- We won't sleep here tonight. Apparently I'm too important to die. Mycroft think I can't take that risk.

- What about me?

Sherlock frowned.

- You'll be with me, of course.

- Oh okay. I thought that since you're the only one who the life matters…

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Then, he turned to the window, again.

- I'm going to make some tea. You want some?

Sherlock didn't answer. He wasn't there anymore.

John left the room. Then he thought: there was nothing in the kitchen to make some tea. So, he had to ask Mrs. Hudson. Except he didn't want to see Mycroft again. Sherlock's explanation hadn't been enough, for now. He could have called Mrs. Hudson from upstairs, but that was rude.

When he finally decided to come downstairs, Mrs. Hudson arrived with a tray full of food.

- Mrs. Hudson, you're still the perfect landlady.

- Just for this time, boys. But, I'm not your housekeeper.

- You're more like a mother, Mrs. Hudson, said Sherlock with a smile on his face.

Mrs. Hudson blushed of pleasure.

- I think our guest is coming, if you want to welcome him.

- Of course, Sherlock, of course.

- And tell Mycroft to be nice, please.

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes.

- I'm not your shrink neither you counselor.

And she left.

- Who's coming now, asked John.

- John. John. John. What a funny head you have.

Sherlock came to the window and closed the curtains in a dramatic gesture.

- You can't do it without that, can you? Said John in a smile.

That was so Sherlock, so show-off Sherlock.

In the semi-darkness of the room, Sherlock turned to John and offered him a true smile. And just like that, John began to be aroused. Oh, God! What can I say? The shower was totally a bad idea. John couldn't imagine that Sherlock wasn't seeing what was happening. Because Sherlock saw everything. Yet, Sherlock didn't break his smile. Moreover, he looked in John's eyes very deeply. John flushed. That was hard to hold his look. Hard was totally the good word.

Then, Mycroft and the guest, who was obviously Oscar, arrived and the magic was broken. Sherlock was focused again.

- Did you get a good idea of the flat? Asked Sherlock.

- You had pictured it perfectly, answered Oscar.

- That's what I do, said Sherlock.

Mycroft rolled imperceptibly his eyes. John smiled because Sherlock was so childish sometimes.

- Do you think the plan is going to work, asked Mycroft.

- Of course, it will, answered Sherlock.

- I don't ask you, little brother. I want a professional opinion.

The two brothers stared at each other a bit. John cleared his throat and in a gesture, encouraged Oscar to speak.

- Yes, I think it's going to be all right. The rest of my equipment will arrive tonight but I still have some things to do. If I may?

Sherlock nodded.

Oscar began to work in silence. With a movement of his head, Mycroft asked Sherlock to follow him in the kitchen. And where Sherlock was, John was too. As they were talking, the three men took their tea. Mycroft and John ate. Sherlock was just drinking as usual.

- So did you see some men? Asked Mycroft after a bit.

- I only saw yours.

- No way.

- Two in the café. Three in the apartments just across the street: first floor, fourth window; second floor, first window; third floor, second window.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, this times dramatically. Was it a family habit or a family disorder?

- Okay. I get it. You're too smart for my men. But, not for me, Sherlock. And, I swear to you, if you do anything to screw up the operation…

- Why would he do that? Asked John.

- Because it's Sherlock. And THAT'S what he does.

- Don't talk to him as he wasn't even there.

- In a matter of fact, he is not.

John turned to Sherlock. He was hide by the curtains, still looking out the window.

- That's not a reason, Mycroft.

- You have to get over it, John. I expected you'll be the one who'll keep Sherlock in track. I control this operation. So he has to conform to my order, whatever I ask. And you're the best man to help him to do that. Is that clear?

- Yes, Mr. Government.

Before Mycroft could answer, Sherlock passed between them, running.

- Where are you… going?

Sherlock had just closed the door noisily.

John and Mycroft came to the window.

- Bloody Sherlock! What I said?!

- Who's that man? Asked John.

- M's minion.

- What? We have to do something.

- He is the one who likes troubles, John.

- Piss off, Mycroft.

On those words, John left the flat. When he finally arrived in the street, Sherlock had finished to talk to the man.

- Dammit Sherlock, said John. What did you say to him?

- Not too much, don't worry John.

- You could have died, Sherlock. Why are you so reckless?

- I'm not going to die, John. Neither do you. That was totally safe.

- Totally safe? You have to be kidding me. That man wants to kill you and you run into the lion's den.

- He wasn't going to kill me, John. He was just on tracking duty. So I told him myself when I was moving out. And I also told him that he could say hello to his boss for me.

- Fuck Sherlock. I thought you told me that you didn't want to prove your brother right.

- Don't be rude! Come on, John. We can go now.

- I'm not going to let you go with this, Sherlock…

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He came to the door of the flat, John followed him. Then, he stopped in the door frame. John almost banged into him.

- What? Asked John.

- What do you think about the roof, John?

John frowned.

- Do you think you'll have a good angle of view?

- For the flat?

Sherlock nodded.

John began to look in detail. He walked into the street, forgetting that just a minute ago, he was scared to be defenseless. But he was in his element, there. He looked at the street as it was a field, his military reflex still there. After a while, he was ready to talk.

- I think that's going to be perfect.

- That's what I thought. I hope you still know how to shoot.

- Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock. My ability to kill is as perfect as your ability to observe and deduce.

Sherlock smiled. That was totally the kind of answer he was expected.

- Perfect, then.

Sherlock put his hand on the catch then froze again.

- By the way, Mr. Government, quite perfect…

John watched him. Of course, he had heard. John was still pissed a bit and he didn't want to give Sherlock the pleasure to laugh. But Sherlock's laugh was too communicative so he followed.

- Can't you be serious, for once? You had really scared me, earlier. Again. You know, two can play that game.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

- As I said, I perfectly knew what I was doing. I won't put me in danger on purpose, John.

Sherlock began to open the door but John put his hand on his arm. Sherlock didn't freeze as he usually did when a person touched him. But John wasn't anybody.

- Is that a promise, Sherlock?

- Is that what's bothering you?

- We haven't talked about that yet, Sherlock. But yes, that's bothering me. That's scared the crap out of me. Actually, that's stopping my heart.

- Figure of speech…

- Err Sherlock, of course, figure of speech. Is that what was important in my sentence?

- I'm sorry. Yes, that's a promise I'll try to keep.

- You'd better.

After that, the two men came finally into the building where Mycroft was waiting for them, his face perfectly closed.

- So have you already ruined everything, Sherlock?

- Actually, I haven't. I even did my best to create a diversion. I understood that if they saw me and John outside, they weren't going to watch the flat too much. And I think that John and I have done a pretty good show.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Definitively, a family disorder.

- The car is ready, you should better go. By the way, the man is still watching you.

- Of course he is. I told him that we were going to go. So he is waiting for us.

- You're such a pain in the neck, Sherlock.

- And you are such a pain in the ass.

- Sherlock! Said Mrs. Hudson. Enough with that language. That's totally indecent.

Sherlock looked at John and both gave a faint smile.

- I'm coming with you, decided Mycroft.

Both Sherlock and John rolled their eyes.

After they all said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, they jumped in the car.

- Is it safe for Mrs. Hudson and Oscar? Asked John.

- My men are watching them. Nobody could approach them. I swear, said Mycroft.

Sherlock and John were sitting side by side. Mycroft was facing them.

- The safe house is an apartment in a building we owned. My men will be there, watching for you. I think you're going to be alright. Our driver is going to take some byroad, just in case.

Sherlock wasn't listening anything. He wasn't interested by Mycroft sayings. Besides, he was following on his phone their ride, especially to see M's men. The problem was that there was none. Yet, he was sure that he had seen M's minion going out from their street. That was just strange.

- So, said Mycroft after a while, tell me John, are you happy to have my brother back?

John froze.

- I'm not going to talk to you about that, Mycroft. You have plenty of cheek.

- Thank you.

- That wasn't a compliment.

- Nevertheless, it was a simple question.

- Where do you want to go with that, anyway?

- Nowhere. I just try to be friendly.

- You never did. So if you want to ask me something, go ahead. But don't try to be tricky.

- Alright, I prefer to have some visual proof…

John frowned. God, Mycroft was so annoying.

Sherlock was still in his mind. However he had heard every damned last words of Mycroft.

The ride lasted almost two hours. Sherlock didn't spill out a word. John and Mycroft talked about platitudes, sometimes. But Mycroft was particularly interested by the things the two men weren't saying. As he said, he was ready to watch.

They arrived at the flat at 4pm. Mycroft wasn't with them anymore. He left them down the building, an unbearable smile on his face. Some Mycroft's men escorted them to their door. Before they came in, they watched out the flat.

- That's okay, one of the men said. You can go now. If you have any problem, please use the phone. Have a good night.

John flushed. Was it him or every comments he heard about Sherlock and he seemed double entendre?

Sherlock didn't notice or rather didn't pay attention. He came into the flat quickly. He closed the door after John, and locked it. Then, he began to walk into the flat, looking everywhere. It was quite a dance and it was marvelous.

- If you tell me, what you're looking for, I can help you, Sherlock.

He didn't answer but ten minutes later he was back in the living room, a smile on his lips.

- I've finished. I've removed every camera that Mycroft had placed here.

- That fucking git…

- John, he is my brother.

John looked at Sherlock who had a big smile on his face.

- You're a git too and you know that.

During the time Sherlock had looked for some camera, John had also had a look around. The flat was luxurious but it wasn't a big one.

- Mycroft said they owned the building. Why did he gave us a small flat? Asked John.

- Because Mycroft is a dirty boy who expected to watch some nasty thing.

John flushed. Indeed, there was only one bed.

- He is going to be disappointed… said Sherlock.

- Yes, of course, said John crimson red, as if we do some…

- I mean, I removed the cameras…

John blushed harder. Sherlock said that on purpose, John knew it.

Playful Sherlock… He wasn't often there and didn't stay very much.

- So, what do you want to do now, Sherlock?

- I need to think, he answered, his glance already elsewhere.

Playful Sherlock had been replaced by Mind Palace Sherlock. That was going to be a long night.

- Do you want to play the violin? Asked John.

- No! I want telly, I need telly.

Sherlock had his child voice, again.

- Alright, I'll find something.

- The dumber the better, John.

John rolled his eyes and turn on the TV.

For three hours, John watched the TV. He went web surfing. He cooked a bit. Sherlock didn't leave his armchair. He was lying as he could. His back and his head on the armchair seat. His hands on his head. His leg in the air. That was obviously uncomfortable. But he didn't move in three hours. There was no couch because of course, Mycroft had took it away. Sherlock had showed John the mark on the carpet. Besides, Sherlock didn't want to go in the bedroom. He wanted to hear the TV.

John thought that Sherlock was sleeping. He took the two plates he had prepared very carefully and put them on the table without a noise.

- I'm not going to eat, John, you know.

John rolled his eyes.

- I saw that.

- How can you see something without your eyes opened?

- I felt it if you prefer.

- Since when do you feel, Sherlock?

- Touché!

John and Sherlock looked at each other, a smile on their face.

- By the way, John, what did you bring back from the flat?

- Sherlock, you're impossible. It was supposed to be a surprise.

- I don't know what it is so it's still a surprise. Please.

- Alright. Alright.

John gave him the bag he had took from their flat. Sherlock touched it, smelt it.

- Don't deduce just open up.

Sherlock pouted but he did it even though. Then, a spark lighted in his eyes.

- Why didn't you give it to me before?

- A "thank you" would be perfect.

- Thank you, John, said Sherlock disappearing in the bedroom.

When he came back in the living room, he was wearing his favorite robe and his flannel trouser. His robe was surrounded by the belt on his hips. So the robe was quite opened and he didn't wear anything under.

John flushed a bit at this vision, this dream vision…

Sherlock didn't have to say anything to show that he was happy. As a child, always.

After that, they ate. Sherlock made an incredible effort to eat at least five beans. A record, maybe!

John was quite happy: it was a start. Besides he knew that seeing the restriction that Sherlock had done with the food, he had to take it slowly. A step after another.

After the lunch, John had to say he was tired. There was just one problem: the bed. And he wanted that Sherlock slept. His restriction in that domain had obviously been the same than with the food.

- I'm going to put my pyjama on, began John. After that…

- Shh, John, thinking.

He was back on the armchair, his chest more exposed than ever. Delicious…

John came into the bedroom. Their clothes have been dropped off probably by Mycroft's men. He found his sweatpants but not his top. Dammit Mycroft… Such a bad boy.

John kept his shirt on. He laid on the bed and began to read some book he had took from the flat's library. He preferred to wait a bit before he came to the living room again to talk about the bed.

After a while, though, Sherlock appeared on his own initiative. The belt of his robe had disappeared so he was almost half-naked. Of course, John had seen him a lot like that because it was his favorite outfit. But, before he died, John had never thought about Sherlock the way he did now. It wasn't embarrassing at all. It was just perfect.

Sherlock stood at the window, still lost in his mind.

- You see that, John, he said after a bit. Quiet! Calm! Peaceful! I hate that so much.

Sherlock was a man of action and John perfectly knew it.

- The calm before the storm, Sherlock. You know the proverb.

Sherlock turned around.

- Why are you wearing your shirt?

- It appears that Mycroft forgot to give to me my all pyjama.

Sherlock smiled.

- Nobody can change my brother…

- So, here I am… How do we sleep?

- How… Well, you close your eyes…

- No, I mean how, how?

- I don't want to sleep.

- You need it. End of discussion.

- So, what do you suggest?

John flushed.

- Err… We can sleep together, it's not a problem for me, Sherlock. (John blushed harder) But I know you don't like when someone invade your privacy. So, if you prefer, I leave you the bed and I take the floor of the living room.

Sherlock didn't answer. He just move to the bed. He took his robe of. John tried not to look but it was too hard. Again, good choice of word. John didn't know if Sherlock did that on purpose but he was quite aroused, again.

Sherlock laid down on the bed, next to John. He felt obviously really comfortable.

- I thought I wasn't good-looking anymore… he said in a bit of a smile.

- I lied.

- Obviously… You're not going to take another shower, right?

- Sherlock! Don't play that game with me. It's not funny.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

- I was just trying to be friendly…

He laughed and John pouted.

- I'm sorry John. In a matter of fact, I was trying to understand you, that's all. With you, I go from one surprise to the next. I'm not used to it.

- I thought you told me you didn't want to talk about that before…

- I'm not talking, John. I was just making a statement. That's all.

John smiled. That was totally Sherlock.

Sherlock turned off the light on his bedside table.

- You know you can take off your shirt, that doesn't bother me. I've already seen you in underwear…

John closed his book with a big noise. He turned off his light too. Then, he undressed his shirt.

- You will be more comfortable…

- Sherlock!

- What? That is just a fact, John.

"Not for me, again."

John was on his right side, looking at Sherlock. The curtain was still opened so they can see each other's face.

- There is something I don't understand, Sherlock.

- Listening.

- What I said before about your privacy, I meant it…

Sherlock began to move on the bed, as he was uncomfortable.

- I need to get up.

He run to the living room but come back ten seconds later. He opened the window. John was silent. Sherlock needed some time and he accepted that.

Sherlock began to smoke at the window. John was looking at him. His face was released and relieved after each drag.

Still smoking, he turned around to face John.

- Actually, John, I think you are my privacy, since the beginning.

Then, he turned back and continued to smoke. John didn't say anything. Sherlock didn't expect anything. Moreover, he didn't want anything back. John didn't even know what to think about that. It was quite a statement… The two men kept quiet. John was looking at Sherlock who smoked cigarette after cigarette. He really needed to relax. Obviously.

After, at least ten cigarettes, Sherlock came in the bed, John still looking at him.

Sherlock didn't seem relieved at all finally, more preoccupied. Almost, in another world.

- I don't think I'm going to sleep John…

- It's not a big deal, Sherlock.

- You have to stop looking at me, you're not going to sleep either.

- I'm sorry… I just want to be sure you're still there.

- What does a doctor think about heart beating?

John frowned.

- Is that enough to know that someone is alive?

- Yes, of course, said John who finally understood.

- Alright, then.

Sherlock took John's hand. John's heart stopped again. Sherlock put John's hand on his own heart. John was feeling Sherlock's heart and it felt amazing. As a doctor, John heard the perfection of the beats. As a man, standing next the man he loved, John heard in Sherlock's heart every feeling, every emotion, every sensation the detective tried to hide from everyone. Except from John.

That night, John felt himself full of love. Of course, he knew that it wasn't totally the same for Sherlock but this man had done something he probably never did. Sherlock had even shared something very personal. John wasn't aroused anymore because being next to Sherlock, sharing with him, meant a lot more than that. It was purity and innocence: two words which characterize Sherlock very well… Despite everything he had experienced, Sherlock was still pure and innocent. And he was so perfect with all his imperfection.

John was full of thought when he was near Sherlock. And he knew that Sherlock himself was thinking about what he had in his mind, about what he saw in John's eyes.

Despite it, Sherlock still seemed anxious. It wasn't the exact same anxiety he had felt before he had needed a cigarette (or 10), it was less deep, kind of shallow. And, all of sudden, John understood what it was. It was the first time he read in Sherlock's mind like that, without speaking. But, at this time, it felt quite obvious. John was tired but he wanted to show to Sherlock that he was understanding him. The two men stared for a bit. It was so perfect and so natural. John brought himself closer to Sherlock, then whispered in his ear:

- The calm before the storm, Sherlock…

Was it those words or was it the whispering: no matter what, Sherlock had felt a thrill.

**I can't say it too much: please tell me what you think!**


	6. Plan up!

**Chapter 6: Plan up!**

_Mycroft's safe house, Saturday, April 6__th__, 1pm_

John was still in a deep sleep, a tiny smile on his lips. Since he had fallen asleep, he hadn't awakened even once. Little by little, the sound of a distant music helped him to come to consciousness. His mind, still asleep, didn't understand from where that sound was coming. But it was delicious, peaceful, and just perfect. John wished he could have awaked every morning in this same way.

John remembered what happened the night before. The smile on his face got wider. Yes, that wasn't a dream: he had slept with Sherlock for the second time of his life. In a bed, this time. Much better. Thank you Mycroft.

The peaceful beat of Sherlock's heart had made him sleep. Even if he was sleeping, John had felt that Sherlock hadn't moved, he hadn't slept either, he was just plunged into his mind, far from John and yet very close. Anyway, thanks to Sherlock, John had passed his second night without a nightmare. He hadn't dreamt about the war, his soldiers friends died in duty, the wounds he had seen, and most of all the face of Sherlock before he jumped, the blood all over his head. All these bad memories were just forgotten when Sherlock was near to him. And it was mentally refreshing, invigorating. It was as John had felt relieved from a weight he didn't even know he was carrying.

John blinked for a bit. His eyes were still full of sleeping. John didn't want to leave this bed. On the other side, he was alone in the bed now. So, he wanted to be with Sherlock again. John understood now that the music was the sound of his violin. He really wanted to see him playing. John pouted. "Come on, Johnny boy, find some strength! And put that smile out of your face if you don't want to be so obvious…" Actually, John thought that he didn't care to be obvious. He was happy. End of the story… (Figure of speech) Yet, nothing had really happened. Just two hands, just two hearts… What would he feel if something more important happened? If they kissed? If they touched each other? How could his heart and his body keep up from the flow of his feelings? He already felt so happy, highly satisfied. And now, totally aroused. What did you expect John? Thinking about kissing Sherlock, sleeping (sexually I mean) with him… Not a good idea!

John took a deep breath and tried to think about everything except Sherlock. At least, for a while. Then, when the pressure began to lower, John finally found the courage to stand up.

John didn't wear anything on his chest, but he didn't care. After all, Sherlock had said that his half-nudity didn't bother him. Of course, Sherlock wasn't a normal type of guy. Maybe he hadn't ever been aroused. John blushed. Why was he thinking something like that? Besides, it was totally dumb. Of course, Sherlock wasn't an alien, he had inevitably felt the pleasure (maybe a torment for Sherlock) of the adolescence. Now he was thinking about that, John saw that he didn't know what child, what teenager and young adult Sherlock had been. He had so much to learn about him. He had a full life to learn about him. Marvelous…

Slowly, John followed the sound of the music. He was calm and very silent. He didn't want to disturb Sherlock. John finally arrived in the living room and for a moment he was totally stunned. Sherlock was in front of the window, all-glorious, his body illuminated by the sunlight. John saw the reflection of the sunbeam all over his chest. He was just wearing his trouser and he was playing. The violin was put on his left shoulder. The gestures were elegant, as usual. For a while, John stood there, leant on the wall, watching his friend. John had always loved music. He wasn't a musician so he didn't understand a much in music. But, he knew Sherlock, he knew what kind of music Sherlock played according to his mood and the events. Sherlock loved melancholic tunes. Chronic depression was the fate of geniuses. When he was bored, angry, and maybe a little bit crazy, Sherlock used to make some hard noises with the violin. It was kind a bad treatment for such a beautiful instrument.

This time, Sherlock was playing a sad music, at first very low. Then, it increased in intensity. It was truly beautiful and so deep. John had the impression that he was in direct communication with Sherlock's heart. John dried the tears which formed in the corner of his eyes.

The tune was almost done. Sherlock made his last movement, then he turned to face John.

- Are you ready for some action, John?

- With you anytime, anywhere, he answered immediately.

Sherlock looked at him to understand what the meaning of this sentence was. If there was something hidden under the words. Sherlock stared intensely at John. So, of course, the doctor blushed.

- Why don't you wake me up earlier? asked John to change the subject.

- Something tell me you don't sleep very much and very well these last days…

Sherlock was vague on purpose. He didn't want to increase the wound which wasn't healed yet.

- Is that something you have deduced or something you saw?

- Both, said Sherlock in a shy smile.

- If you were watching me when I was sleeping, I wonder when you take the time to have a proper sleep, whispered John.

It was more for himself. He wasn't expected an answer. Fortunately, because Sherlock wasn't ready to give him one.

- Anyway, said Sherlock, we're not in a hurry. Actually, we have lots of time. Too much. Unfortunately.

- What time are we expected at?

- 6pm at Baker Street.

- Alright.

- John…

- What, Sherlock?

- I'm bored.

- I can see that.

- I want to do something. I want to have something to do…

"I have plenty of things that I can suggest to you…" John smiled. Not really a good timing?

- Turn on the telly, Sherlock and watch some dumb show. I'm going to prepare the brunch.

Sherlock didn't answer. He didn't even pout. John took that as an encouragement (maybe) and left him in the living room.

Sherlock looked everywhere, very quickly. He had really a cat attitude… Then, suddenly, he left the living room for the bedroom.

John had found in the kitchen everything he can expect to prepare a proper meal. It was kind of awesome to have all you want within easy reach. He didn't even had to go shopping, for those stuffs. Really awesome. Thank you Mycroft, again…

John was buried into his thought and his cooking, when he heard the first gunshot. Immediately, he put the knife he had in his hand, on the work surface. Then, a second gunshot. John began to run, following the sounds. A third. A fourth.

John arrived in the bedroom. Sherlock was in front of him. John looked at the room and saw nothing except the four holes on the four walls of the room, one for each. John turned to Sherlock who finally put his gun on John's forehead.

- I'm bored, John.

- That's not a reason to mess up. What Mycroft is going to say? What if his men believed we are attacked?

- Don't care.

John rolled his eyes.

- I can't keep an eye on you all along, Sherlock.

- Yes, you can!

Sherlock made a weird smile.

- Anyway, dinner is practically ready.

- Why do you keep your gun under your boxers, John? It is not a safe place.

John blushed, predictably enough.

- I didn't expect you were going to sneak in my underwear.

- Interesting choice of word, John… I was actually just looking for something to do. That's what I do and you perfectly know that.

John shook his head in disbelief.

- In my underwear… yeah… I told you to watch telly.

- Too boring.

- You know we have to wait until 5.30 to go out. I hope you're not going to be an insufferable child.

- I am not a child, John.

- Watch your attitude.

Sherlock pouted.

- Oh come on, Sherlock… Come in the living room and help me to lay the table.

- Can't. Too busy.

John raised his eyebrows.

- I want to understand why you put your gun there while you perfectly know I was looking for it. I expect you do that on purpose…

- What! No… Never mind… What I said. Insufferable child.

John left the bedroom with a smile on his lips. What can he say? He can't help it.

Sherlock finally followed him.

As John was setting the table, Sherlock took his violin again, but he didn't play. He just watched it, his fingers stroking the strings, in a very sensual way, in John's opinion.

John was just about to leave the kitchen, the two plates on his right hand, when Sherlock made an unbearable and awful noise. John brought down the plates, which broke on the tiling.

- It's not funny, Sherlock.

- Don't do it on purpose.

- I don't believe you. And put that smile out of your face. Come and clean up!

- Can't. I'm a child.

- End of discussion.

With all his pouting and his eyes' rolling, Sherlock came in the kitchen and began to clean his mess. John finished to prepare all they need. The table he had set was quite perfect.

Sherlock cleaned very slowly, taking one piece of porcelain after another. John couldn't help but smile, he perfectly knew Sherlock hated doing stuff like that. But he was kind of proud of himself, it was rare to make Sherlock do what he didn't want to. Suddenly, John saw the sparkles in Sherlock's eyes. He whispered something John didn't understand. It was just one word. Sherlock seemed satisfied, so satisfied that he left his duty to go to his armchair. John didn't want to fight with him. Besides, he understood he had something much more important to do, so, as usual, John cleaned Sherlock's mess.

After they sat around the table, the men ate in a peaceful calm. More accurately, John ate and Sherlock just watched. Actually, Sherlock didn't even drink his tea. He just didn't put anything on his mouth. It wasn't so unusual but John seemed kind of worry. John perfectly knew that behind his child behavior, Sherlock hide that he was unquiet, a bit. John didn't want to bother him so he didn't ask. Maybe, Sherlock didn't even know what was troubling him.

So John stayed calm for Sherlock's sake. He wouldn't admit it but Sherlock had always found in John's behavior the calm he couldn't find in himself sometimes like that.

- Turn on the telly, said John again, before Sherlock had the time to say he was bored. I'm going to clean the table and the kitchen.

John knew it was like a mantra. The most Sherlock said he was bored, the most he actually was. And it wasn't good for him.

For once, Sherlock listened John. He turned on the TV and began to zap, very quickly. John thought he couldn't have the time to really see the channels. But, obviously he did, because each time he found the worst show he could. Sherlock was just amazing.

As he was clearing the table, John smiled, seeing that Sherlock was speaking to the TV. He did that a lot and John had missed that attitude very much. He had a half-melancholic, half-hopeful smile on his face because you know, Sherlock was alive and as soon as M's threat would be suppressed, i.e. that very night, they were going to have their life back. With some adjustments maybe. Obviously. But, finally, they were going to have a life together, a happy one.

John went to the kitchen and began to tidy. The sound of Sherlock's voice quickly turned into TV's people's voices. Sherlock was turning up the volume of the TV. John closed the door of the kitchen but it was still unbearable. He succeeded to bear the situation for thirty minutes. Just the time to clean up. But finally, he went to the living room, his forefingers put in his ears, and turned off the TV.

- I thought you wanted me to watch it? Asked Sherlock.

John rolled his eyes, turned round to Sherlock. Then, he saw it. The sound of the TV was too loud so he hadn't even seen the smoke.

- What's that mess, Sherlock?

- What mess?

- I don't know maybe all buts of the cigarettes you have smoked these last minutes.

Sherlock looked as he was actually discovering the mess around himself.

- That? He asked.

- Obviously! You see anything else, maybe?

- I don't remember.

- Fuck Sherlock! I can't pass my life to clean up behind you. I know you're upset…

- I am not!

John exhaled loudly.

- See, you have ruined the carpet…

- That's no great loss.

- Not the point, Sherlock.

- Alright, go take your shower, I'll handle that.

John didn't need asking twice. He went to the bedroom, took his clothes and finally came in the bathroom. Sherlock hadn't moved yet but John knew he was waiting to be alone. A duty like that for the great Sherlock Holmes was quite unworthy.

The rest of the afternoon, John did his best to keep Sherlock busy. They talked a bit, they watched the TV, John even made a big effort to play Cluedo. He had sworn to Sherlock he would never play again, but as Sherlock thought, he would have done anything for him.

Finally, the afternoon passed. Slowly but surely.

Sherlock got more excited a minute after another. John tried to stay calm but he knew that in one hour now, they were going to be in action.

…

Sherlock and John arrived at Baker Street at 6pm, holding their bags in their hands. As soon as they jumped off the cab, Sherlock had already detected the M's man. He was actually not really hidden. Sherlock couldn't help but smile. M was so sure to kill him…

The door of the building was opened so they came in immediately. John was kind of worried. He had lived without action in almost two years. Even if it was interesting and exciting, the tingle of fear was still there. Sherlock hadn't ever been worried for his life when he was in mission. So John had always been the one who was worried for both. In the end, he had been used to it. But this time was different. The spectre of Sherlock's death was still there. So John had to fight to be ready, no matter what could happen.

When they came into their flat, John had a shock. The apartment was barely recognizable. At least, the living room. In one night, Oscar had done a great job. All his equipment was ready to work. From the street, even with binoculars, the equipment was invisible: that was Oscar's prowess. He was not only a great lab scientist, he was also an artist about his work.

John was impressed by Oscar's job. He complimented and thanked him in every possible variant available in English. Sherlock rolled his eyes every time he opened his mouth until he left his window spot and came just in front of Oscar.

- Thank you, he said. You can leave now. Nobody would like you to die. And it's quite dangerous in there.

- I will be in the opposite building just to control my work, answered Oscar.

Sherlock nodded. Then, he turned to the window, again. John thanked Oscar, again. After that, the man went away by Mrs. Hudson flat.

- Why were you so rude? Asked John just after Oscar's departure.

- You know, I could have done the job he did, it's not really complicated.

- Don't be so obviously jealous, Sherlock. It's confusing.

- I'm not jealous. It was just a fact.

John laughed and Sherlock looked at him irritated.

- What we have to do now? Asked John.

- Just act normal, so do dull things, as usual!

John rolled his eyes. "God, this man doesn't take criticism well." Too funny.

John took advantage of his time to tidy the few things he had brought back. Then, he tidied Sherlock's clothes and finally prepared a washing machine. Yes, that was right, what he was doing, was pretty dull. But, someone had to do it and it was, in any event, better than lying on the couch for one and a half hour. "You hear me Sherlock!" John needed some time to take his bearings back. As when they had move in for the first time, Sherlock had been comfortable since the first minute he went in there. And his favorite spot of the apartment was the couch.

One hour and a half after they arrived, Sherlock jumped off the couch without warning. John's heart stopped and it wasn't for a sentimental reason. Too bad!

- Are you ready, John?

- For what, exactly?

- To move out, of course.

John rolled his eyes.

- Well, I didn't know we were already going out.

- What did you think we were going there, so? Don't forget to take your coat and a scarf, maybe, it's going to be a cold night.

John did as Sherlock had asked him. Sherlock really loved to let him in the dark about their plans. Maybe, it was because he wanted to appear more exceptional. But he was wrong. Everything he did was extraordinary. Especially, in John's eyes.

John didn't complain. Sometimes, he found that this lack of information was actually a lack of confidence from Sherlock. But he knew it wasn't true. And that night, he was really in a hurry to discover the end of the plan.

- Do I need to take my gun? He asked.

- Why do you ask when you already have it, tied on your ankle?

John smiled.

- I just wanted to check that you were in a good shape.

- I always am, John.

At 7.40, Sherlock and John were ready to go.

Then, they heard a big noise, as an explosion or a car accident from the street.

John started.

Before he had the time to react, to ask a question or anything, Sherlock was on him.

- Now, John. It's now or never, he said.

Then, he encouraged him to move on.

As soon as they had left the living room, something really incredible happened. John only saw a reflection, Sherlock was pushing him, but it seemed quite unbelievable.

Few seconds later, Sherlock and John were on Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. She wasn't there anymore. Mycroft had concluded that it was too dangerous to a landlady to be there when someone wanted to kill her famous tenant. Mrs. Hudson had grumbled but that wasn't her decision to make. For once, Sherlock had agreed with Mycroft. By text. He was obviously not there. Just that simple fact had closed Mrs. Hudson's mouth and she had followed gladly.

- What was that explosion, whispered John we didn't know if he was supposed to be quiet or not.

- Our smoke screen, obviously.

- That's funny because I was just thinking that we need one, right now. To get out of the building, not get out of our living room.

- Observe, John. You always see but you don't observe. If we are already in the living room, nobody would expect to see us outside. So, with a slight protection – our coats and our hats actually – no one will recognize us. You see?

- Yes, but I don't observe.

Sherlock chuckled.

- So, we're going to leave by Mrs. Hudson's back window. But, then, how do we get out from the courtyard. As I remember, it's surrounded by walls.

- Some sport, John. I hope it's not too much to ask.

That's time, it was John's turn to chuckle.

- I think you mention hats. Where are they?

Sherlock took them from his coat. He gave one to John and put the other on his head.

- Mycroft gave it to me.

Yes, that was a good memory: the cap. And of course: the deerstalker or the death Frisbee or the ear hat, as you prefer. In fact, Sherlock was really fond of that hat.

After Sherlock checked some potential opponent in the courtyard, the two men got out of the building, cautiously. They walked until the wall. Sherlock moved one of Mrs. Hudson's bin. He climbed on it, jumped on the wall and stayed on it a bit. He turned around.

- Come on, John. No time to think.

Even if it seemed unstable, John followed Sherlock's example.

But then, when he was sitting on the wall, he got worried, again. As Sherlock liked to remind him that fact, he was actually short and the height of the wall was probably nothing for Sherlock but for him, that was quite something. Sherlock was already down and ready to move on. When he saw John, he raised his eyebrows at first, then he held his arms and helped John to go down. Of course, John blushed a little in the process. So, Johnny boy…

Sherlock and John reached the roof of the opposite building fifteen minute later. They had to take some byroad. But they arrived, safe and sound.

The night had practically fallen. It was 8pm. Lots of light were switched on all around the city. John thought that it was quite a view of London. He was rarely on a roof and being there changed everything. Then, he observed Sherlock. He seemed actually fascinated by the roof. More precisely, by the void. It was his first time on a roof since the fall. John's heart ached a little. It was hard to see him there. Even if he preferred to be with him than downstairs, just watching him. Such a bad memories he would never forget.

Sherlock walked to the edge, and jumped on the step. Somehow, he was totally attracted by this void.

- Sherlock, said John slowly, I would be much more comfortable if you keep away from the edge.

Sherlock turned around, but didn't leave. He just stared at John. They shared a lot of thought at that very moment.

John came closer to Sherlock.

- Actually, Sherlock, I would be much more comfortable if you stay next to me. You don't mind?

Finally, Sherlock jumped the step and he was safe again. For a moment, John just wanted to take him in his arm and hug him. John didn't know exactly what cross Sherlock's mind but he could have said that somehow he wanted to jump. Just to see, maybe… But then, he remembered he wasn't alone anymore. He had someone in his life. Someone who was worth it.

- Take a look, said Sherlock, giving John a pair of binoculars.

- Where?

- The flat, John. Try to follow, please.

John rolled his eyes.

- Unbelievable, said John after a while. Unbelievable.

Sherlock had a big smile on his lips.

- Wonderful idea …

Same smile of Sherlock.

- And wonderful work.

This time, Sherlock pouted and John laughed.

John was watching the most impressive hologram he had ever seen. Actually, he had never seen one in the real life. But he could tell this one was quite amazing. The hologram was not only perfect but he also moved, as if Sherlock and he were really in the flat. Anyone would have been fooled. And it was the plan.

- So, what now? Asked John.

- You see the door whereby we came in. Climb on the top of it and prepare the rifle.

- What rifle?

- John! Funny mind and funny eyes… The one just in front of you, against the wall.

John rolled his eyes. Okay, Sherlock was right. He hadn't take a great look when they arrived. He had been too preoccupied by keeping Sherlock alive. As usual.

No sooner said than done. The rifle was in position, ready to shoot.

John jumped off the building to join Sherlock on the real roof. He was looking into the binoculars.

- What are you doing? Asked John.

- I'm looking for the roof where my murderer will be.

- You know, said John after a bit, this roof is the best. If the guy is a professional, he will chose that spot.

- Then, we have to be ready to welcome him.

- You haven't thought about that possibility?

- Of course, I have. And I hope it will be the good one.

- What's on your mind Sherlock? You don't want to kill him, do you?

Sherlock made a weird smile.

- I just want to confront him, that's all. Besides, I know my blogger has my back…

John smiled a bit, even if he was worried because he knew that Sherlock was capable of killing.

After that, Sherlock and John didn't talk very much. The night was pretty cold and it was hard to stay put when each part of your body wanted to move. But, Sherlock had decided they needed to stay silent, in case of the man would show there. Of course, it was much easier for Sherlock, who was used to be a statue.

Around 10pm, finally, the killer decided to show. For Sherlock's sake, it was on their roof. John didn't see the point of it. Yes it was dark, yes they were hidden by the tiny building from where they came, but there was a lot of chance that the man came in their direction. Maybe, Sherlock expected that. Then, he would have been disappointed. Luckily for John, after he closed the door, the man chose the right side. They were on the left. Only one building split them up. Sherlock got excited. John could see it in his eyes. But he didn't show any irritation or angriness. Sherlock's patience was legendary… Not exactly, in fact. But in that case, yes, he was amazing.

As soon as they heard that the door was opening, Sherlock pushed John against the wall and put his forefinger on John's lips. His left hand was just next to John's head. John was surprised, of course, but he didn't make a sound. That would have been counterproductive. Sherlock was so close that John could barely breathe. John knew that was Sherlock's way to show his concern for him. By that gesture, he wanted to protect him. That was perfect. That felt good. That felt right. John was thankful to Sherlock, obviously. But he was also scared. The situation was scary, that was true. Even if he was more excited than scared by it. No, the real reason why his heart was beating so hard, was the fact he didn't know if he could restrain himself. Not from screaming. Not from running away. Just from kissing Sherlock. His lips were so close to his. His heart he could practically feel in his own chest. John had lot of desire. Since he had found Sherlock again, John was constantly in situation like that. But it was never the good moment. And this one was the worse.

Sherlock was looking at John as if he perfectly knew what was going on in his mind. Sherlock was focused and probably light years away from John's thought. Yet, this sparkle on his eyes that John had never seen. Yes, Sherlock knew exactly what John felt. Despite it or precisely for it (who knows?) Sherlock stayed really close. He was actually much closer than it was necessary. Even if it was confusing – confusing Sherlock was probably the personality which was always there – John wished that moment never stopped.

But, of course, it had to. Even if he stayed as he was, Sherlock put his finger delicately off of John's lips. "Was it a caress, or what?" Sherlock took his phone from his coat. Still staring at John, he drummed on it for a few seconds.

Then, Sherlock came closer to John, as if it was possible. His head came in the direction that John wanted to take. He came closer and closer, then moved a bit on the left to find John's ear.

- As soon as I walk on him, jump on the building and stay put, he whispered. I believe this man won't be our last enemy tonight.

John didn't understand the sense of Sherlock's words but he nodded. Then, Sherlock left John's side. John would have sworn there was a sparkle of deception in his eyes. There was definitively in his own, though…

John saw Sherlock moving quickly but quietly. Yes, Sherlock was a cat.

Sherlock walked away to bypass the building and take the man by his back (no bad pun).

John's heart was still beating very hard. This time, it was because he was worried. Sherlock had disappeared He didn't see anything. And he didn't hear anything. Sherlock didn't ask him to help. Just to be focused on the rifle. He was ready to do it but he hoped he wouldn't have to regret it.

Then, John heard the gunshot. It wasn't the sound of any gunshot. John's military ears were trained to recognize: it was a rifle. Probably the same type as his own (at least the one lent by Mycroft). So, that was done, the man had shoot Sherlock's hologram.

Immediately after the gunshot, he heard the man said:

- What?! … Dammit!

And finally, John heard the sound of a music. A music he knew. A music which reminded him another memories with Sherlock, and unfortunately Moriarty. That couldn't be a coincidence. He knew Sherlock too much to believe that. So, what?

… STAYING ALIVE…

Sherlock was walking on the man. As soon as the music began to sound out, the man turned around and Sherlock leaped on him.

For almost five minutes, the two men fought as nothing else mattered. John was on the building and he just witnessed the all situation. He had taken his gun, just in case. But he knew, rather he finally understood, he didn't know how, that Sherlock wanted to question him. John had faith in Sherlock. He knew he was a good fighter, even if he didn't fit with the character. The other man was a good fighter too, a military one. He was probably stronger than Sherlock but somehow Sherlock managed to keep him in distance.

Then, John heard several noises. And in one minute, the men were surrounded by cops. It was the most awkward situation John had ever seen and it was something to tell. Weird especially because all the cops and probably secret agents were conducted by Mycroft and D.I. Dimmock. What was he doing here? No idea. But he was there. And, in a matter of fact, John was really happy to see both of them.

It was pretty funny to see the scene from above. John saw the angry face of Mycroft. For one second, he believed that he was going to punch Sherlock in the face. He was going to speak, but Dimmock cut him short.

- Holmes, I thought I told you to wait us…

- Not my fault, said Sherlock. My phone rang. So I have to fight if I didn't want to die.

John laughed wordlessly. Sherlock's face was too funny. He was pretty convincing too, despite all the wounds on his face.

- Where is John? Asked Mycroft.

"Thank you to notice I'm not here, Mycroft. What a big brother!"

- Just right there, answered Sherlock, pointing John. He is our safe man.

John said hello.

- The threat is stumped, no? Asked Mycroft.

At the same time, Sherlock's phone buzzed.

**Why is Dimmock here? Why not Greg? – JW**

- He is not the only threat, said Sherlock to Mycroft.

**Can't. Being watched. – SH**

- I don't understand Sherlock, can you explain? Said Mycroft with a funny face.

**Why Dimmock? – JW**

- I thought you were more intelligent than me, brother. Maybe you have an explanation.

Mycroft looked at him, angry.

**I work with him since my death. – SH**

- So, there is the man, said Dimmock.

Two cops surrounded him. He was handcuffed.

- Definitively not M, concluded Sherlock.

- What? Said Mycroft.

**WHAT? - JW**

- What? Shouted Dimmock

- God Mycroft, what did you do to be so off track?

Sherlock looked at his brother in the same way Mycroft looked at him when he spoke about John and him. Sherlock perfectly knew that Mycroft remembered those words.

**Did I really see that? Mycroft can blush! God, Sherlock that was awesome. But, I still want an explanation! – JW**

Sherlock smiled a bit.

- So, Parker, said Sherlock to the man, I hope you don't mind I took your boyfriend's ringtone. You know, since he is dead.

Despite the handcuffs, despite the cops, Parker (since it was his name) rushed forward.

- I'm going to kill you with my own hand, he informed and the sparkle in his eyes said the same.

- Be my guest, Parker. I'm waiting for it, answered Sherlock in a smile.

**Shut up Sherlock! Why do you say that? – JW**

As Mycroft and Dimmock seemed totally lost, Sherlock took the head of the interrogation.

- Who is M?

- …

- Did you kill Ronald Adair? Tried to ask Dimmock.

- …

The look on Sherlock's face told him to shut up.

- Where is M?

- …

- Why is he not here? I thought he killed himself his enemies?

Parker laughed.

- Oh I see, said Sherlock with his I-know-everything look.

- No you don't, bastard.

In one look, John knew exactly what Sherlock was going to do. In one look, Sherlock knew exactly what he was going to say.

**Don't show-off, Sherlock! – JW**

**That's who I am, John. A show-off. – SH**

Sherlock looked at the man, his predatory smile on his face, ready to read him. He had seen. He had observed. And now, he was going to deduce. Naturally, his voice went out of his throat, as quickly as ever.

- Why do I know that you're not M? You're not a famous person from the government. Besides, we know you as Parker. Your clothes are old and worn, your beard haven't been shaven since a really long time, more than a year if I have to tell, I can say with your smell that you take a shower only when it's necessary. A man in this condition would have not been appealed to Moriarty. He loved people well-cleaned, well-dressed and good-looking. I know that you weren't the man I see today back then. That is why nobody here, except me, has recognized you. My dear brother Mycroft could have if he hasn't been preoccupied and disturbed by the handsome D.I. Dimmock there. Anyway, I see in you a man who lost his boyfriend. Your tired and bloodshot eyes tell me that you cry from dawn to dusk. You may be have used drugs. Your fingernails are bitten to the blood. Your dark rings show me that you can't have a proper sleep, probably for almost two years. You wear your tiredness all over your body. So you're sad and you want revenge for the death of Moriarty. But not only. You are also worried. Why? Because you are scared of me. No. You have a military training. You can't be afraid of me. Actually, you can't be afraid of any man, neither of action. No, you're just afraid of your own feelings. Question: why could you be afraid, since your boyfriend is dead? Easy. You have wondered Moriarty's feelings for the last eighteen months. Did he really love you? A man who can eat his fingernails without seeing that he is bleeding must have had serious doubts. And you have serious reasons. Why does a man who loved you have committed suicide? You perfectly know that he was with me when he died. You also know that he had no intent to kill himself before he saw me. You are aware that he was obsessed with me. You were by the away totally upset about that. So you wonder: what does this man, i.e. me, told him to make him committed suicide? You really want to know, but you're also afraid of the answer. Before that, you were necessarily wondering what if Moriarty isn't dead. You saw me alive. But I don't see that sparkle of hope in your eyes anymore. That sparkle I saw when you were spying on my friend a long time ago. So, you are convinced that he is dead. You have probably seen his body, otherwise you wouldn't be sure. Moriarty's body shows you that it was a suicide and not a murder. That brings us to the first question: did the man really love you? You are worried about that, but I also see a sparkle of jealousy especially now that I'm speaking and that you see the genius in me, Moriarty loved. Your desire of revenge and your jealousy tell me that the motive of my murder is personal. So, if it is, why your boss would have let you do this? What was his interest in this business? No one, except if he wanted to kill me for another reason. And, since he liked you, he would have let you do it. Except it's not. The laugh that you made when I asked you why M wasn't there, but also this sparkle of worriedness show me that you're not in mission for him. Only for you. You don't seem to be really scared by reprisals and since you tried to kill me in a long-shot, I can say that you don't want any answer from me. So you had planned to kill yourself just after my murder. The weapon that you tried to take out when I attacked you earlier is another sign of your suicide. The gun belonged to Moriarty. How can I see that? Because there is an M on its butt. That could have been the gun of your boss. But no. Why? Because your boss don't like you and you don't like him. He would have never given you such an expensive pistol. The fact is that I have already seen that pistol. It is the one Moriarty used to commit suicide. Except, there was no M on it back then. I suspect you have engraved it. By a professional, if I remember what I see. So, it's another sentimental sign that proves me your mission is so personal. Anyway, a plan like that, so badly settled couldn't have been done by M. What about Ronald Adair, now? I saw in your face earlier that you were very scared about the void. It wasn't the fear to die, no it was a phobia. You've almost stopped fighting until we were far from the edge. So, if you're afraid of the void, you couldn't have killed Adair. He has been killed from a helicopter. I bet you can't fly. Obviously it was M's work. You don't care about him. Most of all, I can detect a hate of him. Maybe you blame him for the death of Moriarty, because you know he was the real boss. You tried to set him up for my murder. You used a rifle he had created. How do I know? Because I studied carefully M's work. And he is the only one who can create such a rifle. Your face expression when I asked question about him, even when I speak about him show me you that you don't care about him and especially his real identity. I know thanks to my research that the protection of his identity was the real motive of Adair's murder. You knew M was in danger but you didn't care. The only reason I see why you're still working for him is to find me to get your revenge. That's surely not because of your own interest in M's organization and his plans. As I said earlier, you blame M and his organization for Moriarty's death. You tried to kill me but we have determined that it wasn't from M's assignment. So it was obviously because of your love and your loyalty for Moriarty. I can conclude that Moriarty and M weren't on the same page about my murder. That's really interesting and thank you for that. I can see in your eyes right now that you are wondering: How do I know everything? Because I observe and I deduce. What I deduce now is that you don't want me to continue with my speech. You're scared. Scared that I reveal some things about Moriarty that you don't want to know. Because you're a coward. The murder with a rifle is my best clue of your cowardice. You prefer living in a lie and the possibility of Moriarty's love than with the truth. You know I have information. You know I spent some time alone with him. You don't scared about physical torture, you're a military man. But you know that I can inflict you some mental torture. And all that is the reason why you're going to tell me everything that I want to know.

Sherlock stopped, finally taking a deep breath. The man looked at Sherlock as if he was a devil or a god. Maybe both of us. Meanwhile, he was totally ready to say everything to Sherlock. He was ready to confess and to answer any of his question. The fact was simple: thanks to his genius, Sherlock had broken him.

# BANG #

Just one precise shot and Parker was dead…

**Before you go, please review! I can't say how much I'm happy when I've some… Review, Favs, Alerts: my sunbeams of the day…**


	7. Death is stronger than life

**Chapter 7: Death is stronger than life**

_Baker Street, a Roof just opposite 221B, Saturday, April 6__th__, almost 11pm_

# BANG #

Sherlock pointed his eyes on the shooter, or at least the direction of the shooting. Of course, Sherlock couldn't see the murderer, he was too far. But, this second shot had been so close to his head that Sherlock couldn't help it. He had to know. He had to see. Was this supposed to be his last day on earth? No way. In just one microsecond, Sherlock regained consciousness.

- Your turn, John, he yelled.

John was already ready. Even if the second shot had scared the crap out of him, he quickly recovered. After all, he was a military man, well-trained.

John looked in the sight of his rifle. He hadn't do this for a long time. He hadn't even shot since Sherlock's death. But, as long as riding can't be forgotten, shooting can't too. So, it was pretty naturally that his reflex took control on his own body. John was focused. He knew he had never missed a target. Besides, this man had tried to kill Sherlock. The reason why wasn't important anymore. He just wanted to kill him. So, without any shakes, he shot.

The helicopter was moving. A moving target was never an easy one. But John didn't missed. He didn't explode the helicopter either. He just touched it, pretty badly. Badly enough to make it fall. Strangely, the fall seemed to be very slow. John followed it in the sight, an unbearable fear in his chest. John had just realized that the fall of the helicopter could have killed someone, an innocent one or ones. And this would have been his fault. Hopefully, the helicopter was just above Regent's Park. He couldn't be sure for now, but at this time of the night, it was probably empty… Let's hope so!

John jumped off the building to meet Sherlock. He had taken back his binoculars and as John, was looking for potential casualties. A sparkle of relief shined into his eyes. The fall could have been worst if it happened on a street, on houses and flats…

- Good job, John, whispered Sherlock for his friend only.

John nodded, thankful.

Then, something he didn't expect happened. Everyone on the roof was stunned by what occurred. And they were about to be even more astounded. Because, Sherlock's voice began to raise in the silence of the roof. An angry voice. A tune he rarely used with that strength. And it wasn't for anyone attention. Just for the man he was so pissed at. He wasn't just pissed, he was totally mad at him. He couldn't understand (of course), no he couldn't bear to have such an idiot (and it was nice) in front of him!

- Dammit Mycroft! I thought I asked you to watch them. You told me that I was the one who screwed up everything. But you see. When I ask you only one thing, a simple one, though, you're not even able to do it properly. I can only count on myself…

Sherlock was really close to Mycroft, so close and so angry that everybody believed he was going to punch him. Even Mycroft seemed worried. And it was rare. But John, as always, was standing just behind him and with a soft and peaceful voice, he talked to him:

- Sherlock, please…

- … and on John, of course, Sherlock carried on as he didn't even hear John's words. He may be have a simple mind but at least he knows how to follow an order.

"Yes, alright, that went out wrong, but it was supposed to be a compliment." John knew it. For Sherlock, even a tiny 'follow-an-order' was a compliment.

Sherlock was still looking at Mycroft, his eyes full of rage.

- I don't understand what happened, said Mycroft. It is absolutely impossible…

- Obviously, not.

- I placed my men in each private and public heliport. And in all the area which could be used as one.

- I suppose you also have some guy in the Prime Minister's one, asked Sherlock sarcastically.

He perfectly knew the answer.

- He is not the guy, Sherlock. I can swear.

- Because, maybe, you were with him at the moment of the murder of Adair. Yes Mycroft, I know you were fucking him. If you can keep your dick out of your cases then stop that job right now… What is the problem with you, anyway? I told you EVERY HELIPORT. You're so stupid. I can't believe you did that. Because, if you want to know, of course our guy had the possibility to use every resources of the government. Even that damn heliport.

At first, Mycroft had turned red. But, now that he understood the implication of his move (such a bad one), he was totally livid.

John had never heard Sherlock so upset, so irritated. He had never spoken like that. Usually, Sherlock hide his feeling about others. Because, he didn't care about them. Yes, he spoke to the people in a bad way but that didn't affect him. Their attitude didn't upset him. Especially about a case. Even with Adler, and after that with Moriarty, he had never been on the edge of losing it. It was such un-Sherlock. Obviously, John wasn't the only one to think that. Mycroft was trying to understand what crossed Sherlock mind. But, he didn't get it. And, that, was a first. So, as a normal person, he asked.

- I don't understand what the problem is, Sherlock. The man is dead now, thanks to John.

Sherlock shook his head, in disbelief.

- And you really believe that you're as clever as I am. Mycroft, you're not only a fool, but you're also completely blind.

Of course, Sherlock was the only one who understood that sentence. Mycroft was speechless and that was also a first.

- How could M have found this guy, Parker? Asked Dimmock to change the subject.

- Check his phone. You'll probably find a tracker and also a microphone or something like that. He was obviously listening what we were saying. And he killed, just in time, before he can confess and tell us what we wanted to know.

Sherlock finished those words, looking sharply at Mycroft. He really wanted him to get his point. (I think we can tell he did that well…)

Then, just like that, Sherlock left the roof.

Before John could follow him, Mycroft stopped him, a hand on his chest:

- Can you keep an eye on him, John, please? I know I screwed up. But I can tell there is something more in it that just the murder of Parker. There is something he didn't tell us. Can you call me when you'll know?

- Why do you think I don't already know it?

- I saw your face. I know you were scared about his attitude. You cared for him so I'm sure it won't be a problem to watch him.

- Sure I'll do it. But, as far as I'm concerned, if you want to know what's on his mind, it's up to you to ask him.

- Don't be so harsh.

- You are the one who has made the mistake, he is the one who is going to live with it. So, let me be as harsh as I want to be, for now.

Mycroft nodded. John was a sensible man. He knew what he was doing. And maybe it was the first time Mycroft was thinking about that, but, yes sometimes, your ego and your pride have to be hold back. What an improvement for Mycroft in only one night…

When John finally reached Sherlock, he was sitting in a cab, waiting for him. Actually, his eyes were closed, his forefingers pressed on his temples. Rather he was thinking, rather he had a headache. Or maybe both.

John sat next to him and immediately the cab started. Sherlock had already told him their destination. Obviously.

- Text to Greg about the helicopter, said Sherlock one second later. Meet us there.

Fortunately to Sherlock, John didn't ask any question. He knew when he had to be quiet.

John did it. Then, Sherlock continued.

- Tell Mycroft to give Greg the case.

Again, John took his phone but Sherlock's words stopped him.

- Mine.

- Where? Asked John.

- Left pocket of my trousers.

John blushed but, anyway, Sherlock's eyes were closed. Sherlock probably didn't understand how much he was asking from John. How many self-control he needed to stay put with this kind of situation. John did it through because Sherlock needed him. He didn't even know how much. Not yet.

John took the phone, carefully. He didn't want to bother Sherlock. Even if he was the one who had asked, he could have grumbled if John had touched him. He did not though.

John sent the text but before he could take it back on Sherlock's pocket, the voice of the man raised.

- My cigarettes in my coat.

If it hadn't been Sherlock, John would have sworn that he had asked it on purpose just to… What, exactly?

- You can't smoke in a cab, Sherlock.

- Ask him. Need some.

John asked the question to the cabbie who wasn't really up to the idea.

- Money, said Sherlock.

John blushed. He couldn't imagine he was doing this. Against all expectation, the driver agreed.

John began to look for the cigarettes. Sherlock didn't help so he was obliged to look into each pocket. Touching Sherlock like that made him blush. His hand was actually shaking. He felt the tension in the air. He even remembered their moment on the roof. That was difficult to move on. But, in the other hand, the behavior of Sherlock on that instant was so childish, it could have been awkward to kiss him. Or at least, want it. Well, he really wanted it. John took a deep breath. No, Sherlock wasn't acting like a child. He was just totally overwhelmed by something he couldn't share. John finally found the cigarettes and took them from Sherlock's pocket. The last one he checked, of course.

He put one cigarette on Sherlock's mouth, without touching any part of his gorgeous lips. God, he wanted to. But he didn't. He was going to light the cigarette, when it fell on Sherlock's knees. John grabbed it, puzzled. Obviously Sherlock had done that on purpose. Before John had had the time to react, Sherlock spoke, in a deeply voice.

- Light my fire, John. Please.

John forgot to breathe. His heart stopped. Did he still believe that Sherlock wasn't doing it on purpose? "Stay focus, Johnny boy. If he wants to tell something, he'll do it…"

John took the cigarette between his two fingers. Sherlock had still his eyes closed, but somehow he managed to see what John was doing, because as soon as John put the cigarette on his lips, he froze. Was he actually feeling something or was he excited by the anticipation of his first puff? Holding a cigarette in a mouth was totally erotic. But, could we really think that Sherlock felt something like that?

Slowly, John lighted the fire of the cigarette. Then, put it back on Sherlock's lips which were actually shivering. So, it was just that: Sherlock was dying for just a drag of nicotine.

John took a deep breath to relax. He lowered his head to see what was going on downstairs. Considering the heat of the cab – which wasn't obviously due to the weather or the smoking or anything else – John got through it not too hard.

Leaving his thought below the belt, John saw he hadn't even replaced Sherlock's phone. "Here we go again…"

As Sherlock was buried into his smoking, John returned the phone in the left pocket. Before he could take it off, Sherlock stopped him with his own left hand, his eyes still closed.

- Don't move.

- Wh..at? Asked John, completely out of the universe.

- Your hand.

- What? He asked again.

- Let your hand on me, John. Please.

It was the second time, Sherlock begged John to do something. The second time in less than five minutes. It was more than unexpected. It was just disconcerting. John couldn't have been more confused by Sherlock's behavior. What was going on with him now? A small voice in his head told him that it was what he wanted, so why did he need an explanation. "Because, there is something I don't get…"

Then, suddenly, darkness became light. Sherlock needed comfort but he couldn't ask for it. John could have dried a tear. What could this 31 years old man have experienced to be so unconfident?

John and Sherlock stayed quiet for the rest of the ride. John couldn't think about anything else that their two hands, practically joined together. Among them, John was obviously the one who should have taken the lead. He was surely the most experienced. Despite it, he felt relieved to let Sherlock decide of what he wanted. John didn't want to overstep Sherlock's need. John knew what he had in his own heart, he would have been so worried to force Sherlock if he had to take the initiative. Besides each move Sherlock was doing to have an intimacy (sort of) with John brought him the most wonderful feeling in his heart. It was Sherlock's decision. Maybe a part of Sherlock loved him, he couldn't say, but doubtlessly Sherlock needed him in his life.

Sherlock and John immediately knew when they arrived near the crime scene. There were already so many people, curious and journalists, all around the place.

- Is that sure for you to go out, John finally decided to ask. You know they all believed your dead. And M is still out there…

Sherlock turned to John.

- You still worried about what people are going to think about me, aren't you?

- Of course I am. There have been no statement about you, Sherlock. They all still think you're a fake. And that's unbearable.

- Don't worry, Mycroft is going to do justice about me, as soon as he will get over my little reprimand…

- The sooner, the better. Besides, it was totally justified. So don't worry.

- I am not.

Sherlock chuckled. The first time in several hours. And it was the most beautiful sound John ever heard.

- Until then, said Sherlock, the journalist would be probably annoying. But that what those people do. Then, we have our caps to protect us…

- Or being more recognizable…

Sherlock and John shared a laugh.

- What about M? Asked John again after a bit.

He saw that Sherlock tried to avoid the subject but John wasn't fooled.

- Well, John, if he had really wanted to kill me, he would have done it, he wouldn't have missed the target. It was just a warning. He wanted to tell me that he knows who I am, he knows I'm well alive, and he knows when, where and how he can find me.

- Still then, you want to go out there…

- More than ever.

After that, Sherlock asked the cabbie to stop. They were on the north of Outer Circle. Even if the area above the route was restricted, the driver let them go. There was a bunch of officers, who were standing next the yellow tape.

Sherlock had recovered his usual attitude, more withdrawn than ever.

After he jumped above the railings of the park, he began to pass under the ribbon. The policemen were already on him.

- This is a crime scene, Sir. Would you go back, please?

Sherlock looked at him as he was a bug or more accurately as he wasn't even there.

Sherlock kept going without answering.

- Maybe we should wait for Lestrade, Sherlock, don't you think? Proposed John.

- Lestrade, as D.I. Greg Lestrade, asked the young officer.

- Yes, answered John. He is waiting for us.

- Would you please stay here? I'm going to bring him to you.

John stopped Sherlock with his hand on his chest. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

As they were near a big tree, Sherlock leaned on him. Then, he took a cigarette.

- Don't you think there is enough smoke in the area, sir? Asked another officer.

Sherlock didn't even look at him. He seemed pissed, again. In a matter of fact, there was a lot of smoke which raised in the sky, coming from the fire of the remains of the helicopter. There would be no clue there.

- Sir, I'm sure you know that smoking isn't allowed in public area.

Seeing that Sherlock didn't move, the officer turned to John.

- Is he deaf? Does he understand what I say?

- He is kind of Asperger… answered John.

- I'm sorry a…what?

John looked at Sherlock to see if he was going to help him but it didn't seem so. John breathed heavily.

- Can you let him do that, please? He won't bring any other problem. But, if you bother him, he could be insufferable.

As usual with people, the man didn't listen.

- I'm sorry sir but please turn it off. Would you turn it off for me, he asked to John.

John shrugged. He came closer to Sherlock.

- Can you stop, Sherlock?

The detective looked at him, a new sparkle in his eyes. He dropped the cigarette without any look, then watch the officer.

- No, Sherlock, please, don't do that. He is just a kid. Let it go.

But Sherlock couldn't. You see, he needed some toy to be the less bored he could.

- New uniform, freshly cleaned, freshly ironed. Worried face. You don't want to let anything happen near to you. You're a newbie and this is probably your first assignment. You…

- That can't be possible! Yelled Greg. Sherlock, you're still alive and you're still YOU.

Greg Lestrade arrived near Sherlock and immediately took him in his arms. It was totally awkward to see because Sherlock wasn't hugging Greg. He was just standing there, his face almost disgusted by the gesture of the D.I. John couldn't help to laugh. He was kind of happy too. That meant a lot to him. In fact, he was the only one Sherlock wanted in his personal space. That was almost a pride…

Greg stopped the hug clumsily but he seemed so happy to see Sherlock that he didn't care.

- Fortunately, Mycroft called me before your arrival, I could have done a heart attack.

John smiled.

- I can't imagine what you felt, John! … I mean…

Sherlock looked at him as he was the most boring person of the earth.

- The scene, he asked.

- Alright, Sherlock. I understand that you are in a hurry to be back on track.

Sherlock looked at him again, puzzled this time. What was he saying? Never mind.

Greg led John and Sherlock to the scene. Sherlock was looking everywhere like a spider waiting for the kill. Kind of scary… Always been. Always will.

The place where the helicopter crashed was totally a mess. Fortunately, as Greg told them, there was no victims, except of course, the passengers.

- Don't expect to see the bodies any time soon, said Greg.

- Bodies? Asked John.

- Mycroft told me there were at least two inside so I presume there were several bodies.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

- I'm going to take a look, he said to John.

Then, he was gone.

- I hope you don't mind, asked John for him.

- No problem. I'm used to it. I'm going to be really happy to be pissed at him, again.

John laughed.

- Sorry for his attitude. He is kind of upset.

- Who wouldn't be? Someone tried to kill him, John.

- I don't think it's the reason why actually. Anyway, why did you say that about the bodies?

- The remains are pretty damaged. Anderson had examined there quickly. But he told me it would probably take a few days, or maybe weeks before he could give me the identity. So…

- Anderson is there?

- Yes, and Sally too.

John frowned.

- I completely forgot, said Greg who finally understood.

- Forgot what? Asked Sally who was precisely coming with Anderson.

- What are you doing here? Asked Anderson to John.

Sherlock chose this precise moment to come back from his look around. It was quick one. But with Sherlock, everything was always quick!

- What the fuck! Said Anderson.

- Shit, the freak, added Sally.

- I forgot to warn you, said Greg with a smile.

Sherlock didn't even react at this scene which was far from his own preoccupation.

- We can go now, said Sherlock, I saw everything I wanted.

- Boss, what have you done? Asked Sally. He is a liar and probably a murderer.

- Shut up, Sally. You don't know everything, obviously.

- I won't let you ruining our reputation, Greg. You do what you want with yours but let me handcuff him.

- I don't think so, Sally.

Anderson was so stunned, he was speechless.

- If I was you, said Sherlock to Greg, I'll have a look on the parachute which is on the tree over there. The man who jumped used it to run away. He is the murderer.

Sally took advantage of this moment to grab her phone. She wrote a text.

- I wouldn't do that if I was you, Sherlock told her.

But without any second thought, she sent it.

- I thought you were cleverer than that even if you haven't left Anderson since the last time we saw each other.

- Keep your crap, Freak.

- Oh, I see, you recently began to see each other again.

- You don't know anything, said finally Anderson.

- Donovan, I think it's the good time to tell him you're pregnant, replied Sherlock.

Sally turned pale. She looked at Anderson, who was flabbergasted.

Sherlock had already left.

- That could have been worse, don't you think? Asked Greg with an embarrassed look.

John shrugged.

- When Sherlock is among people, I always expect the worse.

- You speak about him as if you have been with him all this time, told Greg, compassionate.

- I felt that way, answered John without thinking. My life was actually paused during this time. Three days with the man, and I've already done much more than in a year.

- That's our Sherlock…

- Well, I think I should go. I can see he is waiting for me and that's strange.

John was walking when he understood why Sherlock was waiting. Just in front of them was a bunch of journalists who were screaming their names.

- Donovan's work, said Sherlock.

- Great! … So, what are we going to do?

Sherlock didn't answer because at the same time, his phone rang.

Sherlock picked up. John didn't know what was happening because of course Sherlock wasn't speaking.

After a while, he stopped the talking with just an "Okay".

John looked at him.

- So what?

- I'm afraid we have to cross the crowd, John. If we can do that, Mycroft had sent us a car.

- Finally something useful.

Sherlock smiled. John and Sherlock stared at each other for almost one minute.

Then, they nodded, exactly at the same time. And they went on.

Walking across a crowd of journalists wasn't really easy. Especially when you were pushed, insulted and questioned. They all wanted to take some picture of the detective with the funny hat and his bachelor blogger. Sherlock was totally unreachable. He didn't seem to hear anything from the crowd. Nevertheless, he felt uncomfortable because of the people who were touching him. That wasn't the thing which bothered John though. It was much more difficult to hear the "Fake", "Liar", "Murderer", all the "why did you do that", "are you going to jail" and everything else.

It hurt and John wanted do one thing: protect Sherlock. That and maybe punch everyone in the face.

Finally, they reached the car with the boos of the crowd.

- Gentlemen, said a brown young lady.

- Anthea, replied John.

He had immediately recognized her. As usual, she was typing on her phone. She barely watched them. No need to say that John didn't care. He wasn't in the same state of mind than the last time he saw her. Definitively.

- Where do you take us? Asked John after a while.

Anthea smiled mysteriously.

- Home, John. Obviously.

- Obviously… grumbled John. Not for me.

Anthea looked at them and smiled again. John blushed a bit. Her eyes were the same than Mycroft's.

- Don't be troubled by this young lady, John, said Sherlock.

- If I am troubled by someone, replied John, it's obviously not by her.

Sherlock looked at him with a half-smile. It was actually the first time John made an allusion out loud. That was kind of funny.

When the boys arrived at 221B Baker Street, they were immediately assaulted by another group of journalists. Obviously, the word had been passed along. Again, they had to use their elbows to make their ways. And finally, they arrived at home. Mrs. Hudson was there, a welcoming smile on her face.

- Oh boys, I'm so glad you're moving in, she said kissing one after another.

- How so, asked John.

- Your stuffs have been carried by some guy of Mycroft I supposed.

John raised his eyebrows. What was that new mystery?

Sherlock was already gone in the stairs. John heard him running, then opening the door.

When John finally came into the flat, Sherlock was closing the curtains.

- Light, he said.

John obeyed.

- So, what is this? Asked John.

But, Sherlock didn't answer.

He lay down on the couch and closed his eyes.

- Okay, said John. Have a good sleep, then.

Again, no answer. He was completely gone.

John was really happy to be finally at home. Besides, all his stuffs were there. So, John began to tidy everything. Even if they hadn't decided yet what they were going to do, if they had to hide again, John found pretty reassuring to have all his effects at their place. Sherlock's ones too, though. Sherlock wasn't the one who would tidy so John did it. He was glad to do it.

John didn't really understand why Sherlock was laying. Usually, when a case wasn't finished yet, he was boiling, he was running, in any case doing anything. He was really upset by something but John just didn't get it.

John had left the living room. Sherlock knew that he had few minutes just for himself. In a flash, he took the tablet which he had hidden below him. John hadn't seen it. Actually, Sherlock had found it in his stuffs. As soon as he had come into the flat, he had knew that something was wrong. First of all, Mycroft wasn't the one who had sent the package. He didn't even know they were going to Baker Street before the incident of the roof. That was someone else. And Sherlock knew exactly who the man was. Not exactly. He didn't know his name, neither his face. But he knew he was hunted down by M. It had to be him. And of course, Sherlock was right. One look on his stuff, and he saw something which didn't belong to him. That tablet and a note on it. An enigma actually. The man was playing with him. The tablet was locked with a code.

The note only said that- which was obviously about the code: "Don't try 'I've been Sherlocked'. I'm not that stupid, you know. If you have been attentive, you would find a way to go out with the code."

The code was so easy to break he hadn't even had to reflect. That was frustrating. Done on purpose. To make him want to continue. However, the allusion of Irene Adler was a little bit confusing. Again, something personal. Sherlock knew he had to be careful. The last time, he had finished dead. So, he had to think.

Did he really want to see the contents of the tablet? M hadn't even told him a thing about it. He perfectly knew that Sherlock couldn't resist.

Slowly for Sherlock, he typed the code 1-9-5-8. Sherlock smiled a bit. If John had been there, he would have asked how he could know that… That was so easy, really. Just the writing he had found on the parachute, the way to "go out" of the helicopter for M, the way to "go out" with the code for Sherlock. As he said, really easy. So easy, that didn't bode well…

Sherlock entered the code and there it was, the real note of M.

Sherlock had been really disturbed by a case, just once. Sherlock remembered the words he had said to John, at Baskerville: "Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true."

For the second time of his life, Sherlock's hand was shaking because he was scared.

Few hours later, John had finished to tidy up everything. He could finally take some rest. John sat into his armchair. HIS armchair. Just in front of Sherlock, who was still in his mood "mind-palace". John would have preferred to speak with him but maybe he was tired. John turned on his computer, ready to check the news. He didn't know if it was a good idea. Because, with the crash of the helicopter, he knew he would probably find some stuff about Sherlock and he. But he couldn't help it. He had to know.

John didn't expect to be overwhelmed by so many article: Sherlock was everywhere. As if Internet had nothing else to speak about. John looked through the article for a while but he couldn't bear it. In fact, the journalists had nothing to say. They were just spitting out their poison. It was disgusting. John closed his laptop violently and loudly.

- You shouldn't have read this, John, said Sherlock.

John looked at him, puzzled. How could he know what he was doing? "That's Sherlock and that's what he does"

- Maybe you could prepare some tea, asked Sherlock.

John was stunned.

- What?

- Can you prepare some tea? Repeated Sherlock, articulating each syllable.

- I had understood. It's just that you never asked me that, Sherlock. What's wrong with you today?

- Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I just want some tea.

John smiled. Don't need to tell me twice…

As he was preparing the tea, John remembered he was actually hungry.

- I don't ask for food, said Sherlock few minutes later.

- It's just for me Sherlock. You don't have to eat.

- Why don't you fight with me about that?

Sherlock frowned.

- No reason.

- Tell me, John.

- It's just that you don't seem to be very well, that's all.

On those words, Sherlock grabbed a biscuit. (Thank you Mrs. Hudson for the shopping!)

- That's actually good, said Sherlock after a bit.

John smiled again.

- Was it your plan to make me eat? He asked.

- I have a simple brain, Sherlock, remember. I'm not you.

- That's totally true. But sometimes, your simple brain made some amazing things.

John couldn't help but laugh and Sherlock followed his lead.

That felt so good. Being home. With Sherlock. Being happy. Just like that. John had only one thing on his mind, and he knew that Sherlock felt the same way: M. The only fly in the ointment.

But, for now, they were laughing, and nothing could have stopped them…

Except, maybe, the ring of the doorbell!

- Don't move boy! I handle that, yelled Mrs. Hudson.

Few minutes later, she was upstairs with a package under her arm.

- It's for you, Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at John and John took the package from Mrs. Hudson who left just after that. He opened it.

It was the front page of The London Evening Standard. A picture of Sherlock and John, taken that same day. And a title, a big one:

THE FAKE DETECTIVE HAD FAKED HIS OWN SUICIDE!

It was just awful. John looked closer: there was a picture of a girl. A girl he knew. A girl he didn't want to see. Never.

Kitty Riley! The journalist who had revealed Moriarty's fake story. She was actually pretty famous now. Thanks to him. The Standard had interviewed her. They had lost no time.

John was stunned by what he saw. In just one day, they were famous again. But not in the good way. The only sign on the newspaper about a foreseeable explanation of the concerned party was a small insert with a declaration of the police: "We have no comment for now but the statement is coming soon". Amazing! They didn't do anything to help Sherlock.

John looked at him. He didn't seem to be bothered, just disgusted actually. For what? The biscuits? He hadn't even read the newspaper. However, he had something in his hand.

- What is it? John asked.

- John, as usual, you see but you don't observe.

John rolled his eyes.

- This disgusting journalist has sent me a note. She told me to contact her for my first interview.

- What! How dare she?

Sherlock walked to the couch, via the table. John wondered how he managed to not walk on the food. Whatever! This journalist had ruined their meal, maybe their night. Sherlock was already falling into his deep thought.

- Do you want to watch some telly? Asked John, turning it on.

- I don't think it's a good idea, answered Sherlock.

But it was too late. Of course, the TV was exactly the same than the Internet and the newspaper. The headline were all the same. And it was depressing and boring. John had this strange feeling they were hunted by the press.

So, John switched off the TV, passably pissed. All he was asking was to spend a normal evening with his friend. That wasn't too much to ask. Apparently it was.

John looked at Sherlock. Maybe he had a good idea to spend the night. Or maybe not. Actually, he was closing his eyes. John didn't want that. He wanted to talk with him. He didn't want to be alone. So, he tried to speak to him.

- Are we going to speak about the news, Sherlock? He asked.

Bad subject first was always a solution.

- No, answered Sherlock, in a funny voice.

- Maybe we should talk about the things which upset you…

- Not, now, John.

- I just want to understand, to help you.

- I said, not now.

Was he pissed? John began to be too.

- I just want to talk with you, that's all. Maybe about us. I don't know.

- Us? Asked Sherlock, as it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

John and Sherlock's thoughts were so far away from each other that a misunderstanding and a fight were inevitable.

- Sherlock?

- Leave me alone, John.

- If that's what you want.

John took one last sip of his tea he hadn't finished yet. It was cold. Yuck! John looked at Sherlock again, then he shook his head.

He finally stood up. He grabbed his coat.

- I'm leaving, he said to Sherlock.

But Sherlock didn't hear, didn't listen and obviously didn't answer.

Now, John was really pissed. He wasn't in the mood to play that game tonight, neither to bear it. Now, that he knew the secret exit of the building, he could sneak out. And that's exactly what he did. Anyway, Sherlock would probably don't care and don't notice.

…

Few hours later, Sherlock finally went out of his trance.

- John, he called.

No answer. He repeated it. Once. Twice. Why did he never answer to him?

Something was tickling in his head. What was that?

Then, he remembered. He remembered the talk. Was it a fight?

What had he said to John? Something he probably didn't mean. Or at least, not in the way it went out.

He couldn't remember his exact words. All he knew was the answer of John: I'm leaving.

Leaving? Was he leaving for good? Or just for the night. Did he say it?

Sherlock's brain was boiling.

That's when he thought about Sarah. Maybe John was at her house. He was obviously somewhere. Somewhere he could have been welcomed, cosseted and yes, loved. Somewhere, he would have felt at home. And it was obviously not here. Because, he wasn't there. Then, Sherlock thought about the bars. John came there when he wasn't feeling alright. He drank. Too much. And the boys hit on him... ... Sherlock wanted to puke... ... It wasn't possible. He had to be there.

- John? John? He asked again.

Sherlock found the strength to get up. He looked in the kitchen, in John's bedroom then in his own. Strangely, his clothes were all perfectly tidied up. Was it John? When had he found the time to do it? Sherlock didn't remember.

Then, he saw a bag John hadn't touched. It was full of his books and some equipment. John knew that Sherlock would prefer to tidy it himself. Fortunately!

Sherlock opened the bag, then the double-bottom. Here it was: all his supply.

Sherlock took it with him then he came back to the living room. He grabbed his phone and sent a text to John. He had to know.

**Where are you? I've been calling you since the last fifteen minutes. – SH**

One minute later, he had still no answer.

Sherlock took his first needle and put it in his arm.

- I can't feel, he said. For himself. For John. Who knows?

He pressed the syringe and all the fluid poured into his veins. God! That felt so good.

Another minute later, still no answer.

He took another needle and did it again.

Always, the same words in his mouth. "I can't feel"

Sherlock followed his process, each minute, until he got some news from John.

Six minutes after his text, Sherlock received his answer. Except, he couldn't even remember what the ring was, neither that he had texted John. Nothing mattered. Because, little by little, his brain was just a huge cloud.

**Sherlock! It's 3am. I'm at Greg's. Why? – JW**

…

**Why? – JW**

…

**Sherlock! Are you alright? – JW**

…

**Dammit, Sherlock. Answer me. Answer my call. – JW**

Sherlock was laying on the floor, his last needle still in his arm. His brain was a mess but he could always think. That was always the worse. His brain never turned off.

He needed to calm down but even the best drug couldn't help him to do that.

He had just one method: his mantra. This time, it wasn't his favorite "I'm bored".

This time, it was much worse:

"I can't feel" … "I can't feel" … "I can't feel"

**Your turn to write! Please.**


	8. There will never be an end for us

**Chapter 8: There will never be an end for us…**

_Greg's Flat, Monday, April 8__th__, 3am_

John was looking at his phone, lying on his bed. Still no answer. Dammit! What was happening with Sherlock? John could have fallen asleep again. But, somehow, he felt that something was wrong. Sherlock had probably nothing. But, maybe…

John stopped thinking. He had to know. Too bad if it was for nothing…

John put his clothes on very quickly. He took his phone and his jacket he had left on the chair next to the bed. He had no time to make his bed. Sorry, Greg…

Speaking of Greg: maybe it was a good thing to warn him. Yes, he was sleeping. Yes, he was very tired. But leaving without any explanation was kind of awkward. Even if he was one of his best friends.

John left his bedroom quickly and soundlessly. He walked in the hallway until he stopped in front of Greg's bedroom. Then, he knocked, slowly. At first, nothing happened. He tried louder. Finally, he heard a moan followed by a word which sounded like "fuck". Next, a sigh. The sound of an alarm-radio which felt on the floor.

John couldn't help but smile. It was kind of mean and he was in a hurry but an event so normal was funny indeed.

- Greg, it's me, said finally John. I'm sorry to wake you up. Can I come in?

- Yeah… Greg cleared his throat… of course.

The vision of Greg was also funny. His hairs were a mess and the blankets on his bed too. Greg had a fitful sleep.

- What's going on? Asked Greg.

All of a sudden, John felt quite uncomfortable and stupid to wake him up for something so Sherlock.

- Well, hum, I think Sherlock is in trouble. I tried to join him but he didn't answer. He didn't even text me, even if I was very insistent. I'm going to the flat to check on him. I just wanted to inform you.

- Alright, give me ten seconds. I come with you.

John frowned a bit.

- That's nice, but I don't think it's really necessary…

- Don't waste your time. I come. If you believe he is in trouble…

John smiled. He had to admit: he was relieved of that proposal. Something in the back of his head was tickling him. Even if he didn't want to show it, he was worrier a second after another.

Greg didn't lose his time. He dressed up as quickly as John.

In two minutes, they were on the street. Greg's car was parked just there. Without any second thought, Greg pulled the flashing light on the roof of his car and started the siren. Again, John felt a certain relief. At least, they would be near Sherlock very quickly.

John and Greg didn't speak during the ride. Greg was too focused on the road. Even if it was the middle of the night, there were people, cars. So many obstacles he had to avoid. John, on the other hand, was too busy to tense up. His hands were moving fast, oscillating between opening and closing. He was looking out of the window. The car was fast but it wasn't fast enough. Several time, he tried to contact Sherlock again. But, he knew, more accurately he felt, that it was useless. Sherlock wasn't ready, wasn't able to answer. Drops of sweat were forming on his forehead. John felt that panic was nearby.

They arrived at Baker Street at 3.30. More or less. Fortunately, the journalists were all gone. Greg parked the car just in front of the building. John jumped out of the car and run to the door. He opened it, without waiting Greg. No time for it. He didn't notice if he was or not noisy. Poor Mrs. Hudson… John couldn't think about that, actually. Because the only thing he had in his mind was Sherlock. His heart was pounding really fast. He climbed the stairs as quickly as Sherlock was used to. Then, finally, he opened the door. He heard that Greg was just behind him. John closed his eyes briefly, to get ready, just before he came into the flat.

And here he was. Sherlock. In all his misery. He wasn't the glorious detective anymore, surrounded by syringes, one needle still in his left arm, curled up, on the floor. That was truly a shocking vision. So shocking that Greg stopped moving. John would have probably done the same if he hadn't been a doctor. No, that was false. Sherlock was his friend, actually the man he loved. Of course, he would have done and did something, quickly. John let his doctor's reflex took possession of him. He had to see the scene with a fair look, not too sensitive. John came just next to Sherlock and felt at his side. Sherlock seemed unconscious. He tried to speak to him, repeating his name but Sherlock didn't answer. John checked his temperature. It felt normal. Then, his pulse. His own heart began to pound very fast. Because, he could hardly hear the sound of it. Sherlock's pulse was very low. Too low. That fucking drug. God! Sherlock, what did you do? John turned to Greg.

The D.I was still stunned, he hadn't moved yet. Some people were like that. Even if usually they were fast to react, when it came to a near relation, they were just blank. At that time, Greg was blank.

- Greg, Greg, said John, look at me. It's going to be alright.

Slowly, Greg finally succeeded to stop looking at Sherlock. He focused on John.

- I need you to call the paramedics. We need an ambulance, here. Alright? Do you understand?

Greg nodded even if he didn't seem to take out his phone. John was still focused on him so he didn't notice that his words have made Sherlock react. Actually, he was waking up.

- I don't need to go to the hospital, he said, in a breathless voice.

John turned his head immediately. Greg who had finally taken his phone, stopped his gesture. He was stunned to hear Sherlock because he had really believed that he was dead. Again.

John knew Sherlock wasn't dead but hearing him was still stunning. So, he just stared at Sherlock. The time seemed to stop for a bit. Sherlock had bloodshot eyes and it was heartbreaking.

- I'm perfectly fine, he finally said.

- Don't seem to, John answered.

- Please, John. Don't want to go to the hospital.

Sherlock's look was imploring and his voice pleading. John was uncertain. He didn't know what to do. His doctor's side wanted to call an ambulance, straightaway. His lover's side wanted to listen to Sherlock. It was hard to fight this part of him. Even if it was a mistake. So, to figure out what to do, he decided to ask Sherlock few questions to see if he was even able to have a proper talk.

- What did you take?

Sherlock looked at Greg with a spark of worriedness. John understood what he wanted to tell, so he turned to Greg again.

- Greg, can you go upstairs and take my medical kit, please.

Finally, Greg seemed to get a grip on himself. He nodded and left the room immediately.

- So? Asked John again.

- Let's just say it something I create or more accurately I improve on the basis of cocaine.

- Alright, I take you to the hospital.

Sherlock put his hand on John's arm.

- That would be useless. They don't know that kind of drug so they wouldn't know what to do. In fact, there is nothing to do. I'm fine.

- That's why you're collapsed on the floor, surrounded by needles. The living room could be a simple street and you would be just another drug addict.

- It's not what it seemed to be. I just took a big dose. It's the usual effects, at the beginning. But, I already feel that it's going to pass. I probably have taken it almost thirty minutes ago…

- The usual effects, hmm, John whispered.

John felt very confused, troubled. Because, Sherlock seemed perfectly normal. Which was much more worrying.

- Of course, I'm normal and alright, John, said Sherlock.

John frowned.

- You think too loud, John. As usual. Especially for my mind which is racing.

Sherlock's sidekick and show-off sides were still the same. That was quite something. John couldn't help but smile. Sherlock was unbelievable.

After a time he believed sufficient enough, Greg finally came back.

- Can you help me to take him in his bed, John asked before Greg had the time to speak.

- Of course, John.

Sherlock was weirdly languid he couldn't hold himself. Greg and John made a huge effort to lift him up and carry him in his bed. Sherlock felt on it like it was the most wonderful place in the world, a struck dumb smile on his lips.

John shook his head, stunned by this vision, so un-Sherlock. Then he turned to Greg.

Greg gave the medical kit to John, who immediately began to search. In one second, he found what he was looking for. It was an oxygen mask. John knew that Sherlock needed some help to breathe. And of course, as every doctor on the planet, he had lots of disposable mask in his kit.

As soon as he saw the mask, Sherlock rolled his eyes and pouted.

- What do you prefer Sherlock: the mask or the hospital… Your pulse is really low so it's up to you.

With a noisy breathing out, Sherlock agreed unwillingly.

- I'll be back soon, said John to Sherlock. You know how to use it. And do it, Sherlock. Because I'll know if you don't.

After a last doctor's look, John led Greg to the living room. Quickly, he picked up the empty syringes and all the mess of Sherlock, then they went to the kitchen. John looked at Greg, a finger on his lips.

- Call Mycroft, he whispered, tell him we have a red code – he'll understand – and that we need a bed in the usual clinic. I'm going to take care of him tonight. And for the next 24 hours. Until his organism got rid of the best of the drug.

- Are you sure it's reasonable and safe. He would be much better in the hospital. We can force him, you know.

- I don't think it's a good solution. I don't believe he needs it anyway. It's not an OD, unfortunately…

- Unfortunately?

- Seeing the dose he took, I would have preferred he OD'ed. The state in which he is, implies he is an addict, again. And the worst thing is he had to start it again since a really long time. Too much, in any case.

John put a hand on his face.

- It's not like I had no doubts…

- How so?

- He had been alone for almost a year and a half. He was dead for almost everyone. It's Sherlock. And that's what he does when he gets bored.

- You shouldn't be the only one to handle him, tonight. I can stay if you want.

- No, it's nice. But I actually think we have to handle it together. Just the two of us. I know he won't agree to go to rehab. I am the one who have to tell him. I believe I'm the only one who can help him right now. The only one he would let.

- Alright. So, I take care of Mycroft. Call me if anything happens.

- Thanks. Hmm. Yes, can you tell Mycroft to not come for now? I don't want to see him and Sherlock near each other in this condition.

- No problem.

- And, I'm really sorry for your night.

- Don't be. What would be the Return of Sherlock without any fright, without any mess of our detective?

- Indeed.

Greg and John smiled at each other. Then, Greg left the flat and John returned to Sherlock, where he belonged.

When he came in the bedroom, Sherlock immediately turned his head. They stared at each other for a while. Slowly, Sherlock lowered his oxygen mask.

- Are you attracted to Greg? He asked up front.

- Wh…at?

- Did you sleep with him last night?

- Sherlock!

John looked stunned.

- Alright… I'm going to prepare some tea.

John left the room, redder than ever.

After a long while, he came back with a tray. There were two cups on it and a teapot full of Sherlock's favorite tea.

- You take a long time, said Sherlock.

John didn't look at him. He just posed the tray on Sherlock's bedside table. Sherlock took his cup immediately (so un-Sherlock) and had a sip.

- I miss your tea so much, you know.

John was still speechless. What can he say about that, really? So, he took a chair and sat on it. Then, he finally looked at Sherlock.

- That was a simple question, said Sherlock after a bit of staring.

- You perfectly know I'm not attracted to Greg. And of course, I don't sleep with him.

- How could I know that?

- Don't play dumb Sherlock. You know I have feelings for another one.

Sherlock smiled slightly.

- Let's not speak about the elephant in the room, would you?

- Why? Asked Sherlock.

- Because you won't remember it tomorrow.

- You know it's false, John. I'm well. And my brain functions perfectly.

- You go too far, Sherlock. You reproach me for not speaking about it when you are always the one who doesn't want to talk about anything. And now, because you are on drugs, you want to…

John shook his head.

- I'm just uninhibited, that's all. Besides, YOU are the one who never wants to speak about it.

John frowned.

- You want an example: just before when I asked you about Greg. What did you do? You run away.

John was stunned. How could Sherlock become the one to reproach him to be unopened about his feelings?

- Alright, said John after a bit. Let's just say I'm afraid you could say things you don't want to. And tomorrow you will regret it.

- Never with you, John. I'm well aware of what I'm saying. There is nothing I don't want to share with you.

John blushed, uncomfortable.

- That's a bit scary, he said to change the subject.

- What?

- That you are so normal whereas you're high. Your brain is still unbelievable.

- That is what my brain does. He never stops. Much more when I'm on drugs, actually. Drugs helped me to see more accurately. Always did.

- So, tell me, why did you take so much drug tonight? Because you admitted it was a big dose.

Sherlock hold his breath for one second, then answered. Thank you unbridled Sherlock.

- You weren't answering my text…

- Sherlock, I only took five minutes to text you back.

- Too long.

- Besides, it's not a reason. What were you thinking?

- That you were at Sarah's place, or maybe in a bar and you left with any boy that you met…

- Sherlock!

- What? You asked me what I was thinking.

- I never went home with any boy, or with any girl…

- Oh yeah, I forgot, you're not gay!

- I don't say that.

- So you are…

John blushed, then smiled. Sherlock was totally liberated, unrestrained. His comments were uncontrolled. That was funny and kind of scary but actually it felt good. Because, it was the first time, they had a proper talk. A normal one… Sherlock's normal, though.

- You really seemed ready to speak, Sherlock. I'm totally obliged to ask you questions…

- Take your chance with me, John…

John blushed, again. And smiled, again. That was so equivocal.

- I have a good question for you: why did you start again?

No need to say what the question was about. Sherlock knew, maybe before John asked the question loudly.

- Lie or truth?

- What would your lie have been?

- I would have said that my mind needed to because I had no proper case, because I was boring, because if I don't feed my brain then he began to be on the blink.

- And now, what is the real reason?

- Your marriage.

- What?

- Yeah, the first time I got high, again, was the day of your wedding.

…

_Saturday, September 15__th__, 2012, Park Lane_

Sherlock was in the street, in front of Sarah's house. He knew that in a few minutes now, John was going to go out. He was waiting, cigarette on cigarette.

**Don't do it, John… - SH (deleted)**

Then, John finally showed up, perfectly well-dressed, as handsome as ever. Sherlock took a deep drag. "Don't think things like that…"

**So perfect in your wedding-suit! But not for her… - SH (deleted)**

Sherlock kept his distance but he couldn't help to follow John. He knew where he was going. The city hall. He was accompanied by some of his friends, and Harry. Of course, Harry. And he was smiling. How could he smile in that moment? Was he happy? How could he be happy without him?

**You don't love her, John. She is ugly and not for you. – SH (deleted)**

Sherlock followed until the city hall, which wasn't far away from Sarah's house. Sherlock couldn't come closer. It was already imprudent. The face of John was enough after all. He had always succeeded to read his mind, just in one look. So, that was true: John was happy and he was about to marry Sarah.

**Please, John, tell me it's not real. – SH (deleted)**

Sherlock knew he should have stopped to hope. Hope that it was just a nightmare, a masquerade. He would wake up in a minute. John couldn't continue until the "I-do". It was just impossible. God, John had told him (not really, but…) that he was in love with him. That wasn't nothing. He couldn't have forgotten that in a few months. Not John…

**Don't forget me, John. If you marry her, it's a sign. – SH (deleted)**

Full of thought, Sherlock followed the ceremony. When he finally understood that yes, John had said yes, he dried a tear on his cheek. A tear of what? Sadness? Rage? Both…

**Please, John, show me you don't do it willingly. – SH (deleted)**

Before he left John to his new happiness, Sherlock waited to see him one last time. Just to be sure. He saw the smile on John's face and it was heartbreaking. Then he saw John and Sarah's kiss, just in front of the city hall. Just that simple kiss made him want to puke. Sherlock looked at the crowd. Everyone was happy. Everyone except him.

**I can't be happy without you, John. Neither can you without me. – SH (deleted)**

He needed to forget about that. John didn't need him that night anyway. He could leave him to his friends. He could leave him to his party. He could leave him to his wedding "sex" night… Yuck! Want to puke again.

**How could you want to spend the rest of your life with her? You should be with me… - SH (deleted)**

After a last, yes that one was the last, look to John, Sherlock went away. He had to forget about that, the ceremony, the hundreds of text he had almost sent to John, everything. His brain wanted to forgot, to delete these feelings he wasn't supposed to have. Sherlock knew exactly what to do. After a stop in a dark street of the city – a street he was used to visit before – Sherlock came to his miserable home. He closed all the door, the light, the curtains. He wanted to be alone, in a dark and tiny place. He was ready to get high. He needed to. His all body needed to. But, more specifically his brain, his mind… Sherlock had bought enough supply to have a good and long trip. That was his only reward. He put syringe on syringe on his arm and waited. Before, he was totally elsewhere, he took his phone to write one last text, one last goodbye. Hopefully…

**I'm going to OD or at least try, just for you, John… - SH (deleted)**

Caring was definitively a weakness.

…

John had listened Sherlock for a while. He had delivered to him some part of his memories. John was stunned by those revelations.

Before he even knew what to say, how to react, Sherlock began to shiver. Because of the drugs… Because of what he said… Rather both.

John looked at him, so worried. John knew that Sherlock was trying to stop the shivers but he couldn't help it. The shivers were increasing.

- One of the side effects, said finally Sherlock. Nothing really important.

John rolled his eyes.

- You need to take a boiling hot shower, he said.

- Only if you're the one who gives it to me.

John blushed. Of course.

- That's so easy to make you blush, John.

John shook his head.

- And so easy for you to be confusing, said John.

Sherlock smiled.

Then John shrugged.

- Alright. I am a doctor that won't be the first time I see a naked body.

Even if he didn't think a word of what he said, John needed to take some strength. And sometimes, saying things out loud was helping.

- Except it will be my body, John. I think I'm going to see you blush a lot.

- I find that you enjoy yourself too much at the idea of being naked in front of me, Sherlock.

- Just a drug effect…

- Yeah, yeah, probably.

John took a deep breath, then sit on the bed, near Sherlock.

- Alright, I'm going to help you to go in the bathroom. I don't want you to catch cold.

John helped Sherlock to stand up, an arm holding him. Sherlock had recovered some strength so he wasn't entirely a dead weight.

John brought Sherlock to the bathroom and help him to sit on the chair.

He looked at him. Sherlock was still smiling, happy to put John into an unbearable situation.

John could have told him to take the shower alone, but the fact was that Sherlock wasn't able to do it. And he really took advantage of the situation.

John looked at Sherlock again.

- Okay, said John, I'm going to run the shower.

- You know, John, you're going to undress me in one way or the other. So, take your shot.

John blushed but he decided to stay focus on the shower. "Turn the hot button, not the cold one". Yet, he could have needed a cold shower…

- Maybe I'm going to switch off the light, John said after he turned around.

Sherlock looked at him, smiling.

- Don't count on it. I don't want to miss your blushing.

John took a deep breath, then he moved toward Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes were buried in his own. John's heart began to pound harder.

- Alright, I'm beginning, he said, just to inform Sherlock.

Maybe, it was more for himself, because Sherlock seemed totally ready.

John hold out his hand to the first button of Sherlock's shirt. First blushing. He try to unbutton it but it was difficult with Sherlock's look on him, with his sweaty fingers, and with all the thoughts and urges he had to fight. Second blushing.

- I thing you need training, John. Let me show you on yours…

Third blushing.

- I can handle it myself.

- I would like to be in the shower before next Christmas, though…

John rolled his eyes. Dammit Sherlock! Actually, that joke helped him to relax. The button finally took his way out. John saw the beginning of Sherlock's chest and it was beautiful. Blushing (I already lost the count) John pursued his unbuttoning, slowly. Each time he saw, each time he touched, a part of Sherlock's torso, he blushed. Sherlock was so handsome. And he knew it.

- Of course I know I'm good-looking, he said. More accurately, I know you find me good-looking.

John frowned.

- You're thinking too loud. You know it. I see in you as in an open-book. Especially now.

- Why now?

- Because, each part of your body tells me you like what you're doing.

John took a quick look to his underbelly. Yes, he began to be hard. Of course, Sherlock had seen. Of course, Sherlock saw his look. And he seemed pleased and particularly amused.

- That's funny how you can't control yourself, Sherlock said.

- Not funny at all, especially when you're looking at me.

- That doesn't bother me.

- And I would like to know why…

Sherlock didn't answer, he just smiled.

- Keep going, John.

John obeyed. He took off Sherlock's shirt and put it in the linen basket. That was a good start.

John took another deep breath before he continued.

Then, he kneeled down in front of Sherlock. His face was now just in front of Sherlock's crotch. John blushed, harder than ever.

- What are you thinking of, John?

- Nothing you want to know.

- Of course, I want to. I want to know you.

- That's a first…

- Don't change the subject.

- Later.

- No! Now. I want it now.

- Me too… But that's not possible.

- Well, John… Finally you said something out loud. Even if it's still equivocal…

John blushed and rolled his eyes.

Though, he didn't replied. Instead, he took off Sherlock's socks. He put them next to him. Then he looked to Sherlock. Slowly, he put his hands on Sherlock's trouser. His button, at least. A spark he couldn't read shined in Sherlock's eyes. John blushed, then he finished to unbutton. With Sherlock's help, he manage to take off the trouser. Sherlock's body was slightly bandy, his crotch closer John's head than ever. This position was totally arousal. John blushed, as usual.

Then, he began to get back on his feet, still very close to Sherlock. When his mouth was near Sherlock's ear, he finally decided to answer to his first question, about his thoughts, in a whisper.

- I don't understand why you want me to tell you that despite the fact I know you're high, I have to restrain myself to take you, here and now.

Sherlock can't help but shiver. And it wasn't because of the cold.

- Because, as you said, for my high-brain, that's funny.

- Actually, it's not. Not for me.

Sherlock closed his eyes, as he was thinking.

- When you say "take you" you mean…

- Fuck you, yes, that exactly what I mean.

- I just wanted to know.

And just like that, John couldn't help but laugh. This all situation was funny. He was about to see Sherlock's body all-naked, but not in the way he had ever imagined. Sherlock's comments were actually very amusing. And you know what? He wanted to take things like that. Even if he was blushing, he didn't have to be uncomfortable. Because it was Sherlock. And with Sherlock, he couldn't be really uncomfortable, he couldn't be ashamed of what he was, of what he thought.

So, after he put the trouser in the hamper, John looked at Sherlock, a new smile on his face. Sherlock frowned, uncertain of what that smile meant.

- Let's get you out of this underwear, John said.

And Sherlock made an amazing smile.

John kneeled again in front of Sherlock. Then, he blushed. He really couldn't help it. But, put yourself in his shoes… You would have done the same!

Even if he wanted to take the things lightly, it was quite something. And his crotch knew it.

So, he stopped and took a deep, deep breath.

- You know, said Sherlock, it's not as big as you think.

John looked at him from below.

- That doesn't help me.

- Of course it does because you're smiling.

- That's just because it's funny to hear you say things like that.

- I always speak so freely.

- Not on those subjects.

Sherlock shrugged and rolled his eyes at the same time.

John took advantage of that gesture to catch Sherlock's boxer. And without any second thought, he took it off.

John had closed his eyes for a bit but he couldn't do it for an eternity. Very slowly, he opened his eyelids. His heart was pounding very fast. His hands were shaking. And he was blushing.

In fact, what he had just in front of his eyes was exactly how he thought it would be: perfect and desirable. He couldn't help but bite his lips. What he wanted to do to Sherlock's cock was absolutely unpronounceable out loud.

Besides, Sherlock was definitely not ashamed of his nudity. On the contrary, he seemed really proud. Proud of the effect of his own corps on John. Because, of course, John wasn't half-hard anymore. In fact, he didn't think he had ever be more aroused than now.

- Are you enjoying yourself? Asked John, looking at Sherlock.

- A lot. But I think it would be better if you were as undressed as me.

John blushed, if it was still possible, seeing his face was totally red.

- I'm not the one who needs a shower because he is high.

- Yeah, but I don't think I'm going to stand in the shower. I need you with me in there.

- I don't think so.

- Then, you'll be completely wet.

- I already am.

Sherlock looked at him, smiling.

- More and more comfortable, John. More and more interesting.

- Come on, go in the shower. You're going to sit and it will be perfect.

- Not, if I'm all alone.

John rolled his eyes.

- Can you help me to lift up, please? Asked Sherlock.

- Of course. That's so kindly asked.

So John did. Then he noticed, or more accurately he felt, the friction then the squeezing of Sherlock's cock on his own. It felt exquisite. And John couldn't help but enjoy.

- Finally, the shower tempts you, asked Sherlock.

John frowned, he was so lost in his thoughts.

- You know, I can watch you…

- Don't be naughty, Sherlock. That doesn't fit you.

- Of course, it fits me. That fits to everyone. And you know that.

John rolled his eyes, again.

- Jump in the tub, Sherlock.

For once, Sherlock obeyed. John helped him the best he could. Then, Sherlock sat. John took the showerhead and tried to give it to Sherlock.

- Do that for me, please, John.

- You make your "please" on purpose, Sherlock.

- Of course I do. Everybody does. When you really want something, of course you say please.

John laughed.

- What? Asked Sherlock.

- It's just that you rarely say please…

- It's rare that I need something from someone… Usually, I can satisfy myself.

John laughed again.

Sherlock frowned.

- What you said… satisfy yourself… It was kind of naughty, again.

- You, pervert…

- You are the one to say that…

- I'm not the one who have a hard-on because of his naked friend.

- Of course, because I'm not naked…

- Touché, John.

The men laughed. Then, John began to pass the showerhead on Sherlock's body. John didn't know how he could bear the heat of the water. It was scalding hot.

- The water is just warm for my body, nothing more, said Sherlock with his "I-know-all" look.

- How so?

- Side effect…

John shook his head in displeasure. Sherlock saw it and closed his eyes. They stayed like that for at least five minutes. John couldn't help but look at Sherlock's body. He tried to not look at his below but even his torso was amazing. He could have spent days just looking at each part of it. John began to detail each scar so he didn't realize that the time went by. Few minutes later, he went out of his trance. Sherlock's eyes were still closed. John came closer to him, and whispered in his ear.

- It's time to wash yourself, Sherlock.

For the third time because of John, Sherlock shivered. He understood that John had find one of his sensitive, maybe erogenous area. He pouted, then he answered.

- I can't. I'm a child and I'm high.

- Not funny, Sherlock.

- That's not a joke, I'm serious.

- You want me to wash you…

- I thought you were a doctor.

- I think we have already determine that it was a lie…

Sherlock smiled.

- I still want your hands on me. I like that.

- Can you stop saying things like that, Sherlock? That's confusing.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John began to wash him. All his body. All the body he had always wanted to touch (without knowing it actually…). The contact of Sherlock's skin was electrifying. The smell of Sherlock's was heady. John closed his eyes for a bit. He wanted to kiss Sherlock and as usual it wasn't a good idea. When could he finally have the good occasion? Surely, kissing a high man wasn't one. Unfortunately.

As John had asked, Sherlock was now quiet. But, his face seemed so pleased that it was somehow harder to continue. Each part of Sherlock's body was screaming what Sherlock hadn't the right to say… The worst (or the best) was coming.

After he had washed all Sherlock's torso (lengthily), his back, his arms, and then his legs; John knew he had to finish with his cock. Even if he intended to spend the least time on it, he had to do it. Taking his courage in his hands (and not only that), he began to rub it with the least sensuality he could find on him. Again, it was difficult because everything he wanted to do was the opposite. Besides, Sherlock's face was just exquisite: his mouth was open just a bit. Enough for John to pass his tongue in it. Shiver… "Don't think about that, Johnny boy, it's enough difficult, thank you so much."

- I think you should stop, said Sherlock after a while, his eyes still closed.

John had lost the course of time and he had spent much more time that he had expected on Sherlock's glory. So, when Sherlock spoke, he just gasped.

- Either you stop, either you'll need a hand job… It's up to you.

- It depends on who give me that.

- John! I thought you didn't want to speak about that again.

- Git! You're the one who did it.

- It was just a warning.

- Alright. Let's get you out of here, then.

Sherlock finally opened his eyes. John stopped the water and helped him to jump off the tub.

- I have to say John, it was marvelous.

- I'm glad you like it.

- And I'm not the only one actually. Look at you…

- Sherlock, stop it, please.

Sherlock pouted.

- What do you want to wear? Asked John.

- Pick for me. It will be perfectly fine. It's not like I care, actually.

John helped Sherlock to sit on the bed, a towel around him. Then, he opened Sherlock's wardrobe. He choose the usual: a dark boxer, a dark pant, and a dark-blue T-shirt. John loved those colors on Sherlock.

After he dried him, John dressed Sherlock. Once his boxer was put on, John's blushing began to decrease. It was easier to deal with a Sherlock not naked. Much easier actually.

- I don't wear that T-shirt a lot, said Sherlock.

- I know, but I like it. Your eyes are deep-blue with it. You're …

John stopped. He was going to say that Sherlock was sexy. Not the good timing…

- Alright Sherlock, go under the blanket. You'll be much better, he said before Sherlock had the time to ask anything.

- Where are you going to sit? Asked Sherlock, a spark of hope in his eyes.

- Next to you, I think it's time we have our big speech.

- Big speech?

- Yeah, about us… I'm going to take the chance to speak with you when you want to. So, I'll let you think about it. I'm going to prepare some extra tea.

John left the room and finally he could breathe again. Since he had seen Sherlock's body, he had stopped to really breathe. Because it was just impossible.

John took his time. He knew that the moment he had expected since they came together again was there. He was ready for the talk. He wasn't proud of himself to take advantage of the situation like that, but Sherlock had told him he was okay. So, here it was…

When he came back into the room, Sherlock had a peaceful look. That was reassuring. It was so rare. John poured the tea then he sat on the bed, next to his friend.

Sherlock stared at him for a bit.

- I was thinking, he finally said, after tonight I'm ready to take things back as they were.

John goggled.

- What?

- I'm ready to not speak about your feeling.

- About MY feeling? Guess what? I am not ready to do it. The fact is, since we came together again, we beat around the bush. Since you're high and we have begun to talk, everything you said is full of feeling, Sherlock.

- It's false. I just said facts.

Just like that, Sherlock seemed to be perfectly normal, as he wasn't high anymore. Even his eyes had lost their spark of craziness. Not now, Sherlock… Never mind, John needed to talk.

- Every sentence you have told me were and are ambiguous. So, either you are playing with my own feeling, either you have ones but you don't want or you can't say it.

Sherlock froze. Definitively Normal Sherlock. Then, he frowned. He was hesitating between his need to tell the truth to John, and his urge to protect himself. But, John was too important to lie to him.

- The thing is, John, I do understand feeling in my brain but I don't feel them in my heart. Not anymore. I don't think I can really feel anymore. It's a part of myself I suppress a long time ago. And only I can deal with it. And even if I succeed to feel again, I don't think I can show it, John.

- I disagree with you. You say the word "anymore". So it means that you felt in your heart in the past. So what happened then?

- I don't need or want you as a shrink, John.

- I am not and I won't be. I'm just the man who is in love with you. The man who doesn't want to give up on you. Who didn't and who won't.

For the real first time in his life, Sherlock was stunned. He did even flush a bit. Of course, he knew it. But there was a difference between knowing it and hearing it.

- Don't act as if you didn't know it, Sherlock. I know you do. Everybody knows it. I love you. I loved you before your death without knowing it. I regretted to not tell you every damned day I was alone. I don't expect you to do anything about that but just stop playing dumb.

- Yes, I knew it. I think I knew there was something since our first meet. But, I didn't want to think about that so I didn't. But then, I heard you after your last shrink session. I was there. And I have to admit, what you said meant a lot to me.

- So, you felt something…

- It's not like that, John.

- Let me ask you something about the reason why you faked your own death. Rather my friendship wasn't so important that is why you could manage to leave me. Rather, it was too important and that's why you wanted to protect me. What do you think? It's up to you…

Sherlock was struggling but he had nothing to say for now.

- Tell me, Sherlock, were you feeling or thinking the same about the gun on my head and the one on Mrs. Hudson's and Greg's?

- No, I wasn't.

- And you told me you're ready to take things back…

- That's what I do John. I don't embarrass myself with feelings. I didn't say I don't feel anything. Just that I repress them and I delete them. It's a reflex. I'm not able to have one without the other. I can't act differently.

- You're a human being, Sherlock. Whatever you think, feelings are humans. As you said you just managed to repress and suppress them. But, of course, you can act in another way. And I will prove it to you now… Even if you delete them, try to remember what you felt the day of my wedding.

Sherlock's look was painful. But John didn't give up.

- I'm just going to tell you my state of mind back then. You saw my smile but deep down I was screaming. I was so hurt. My sadness was creating real pain on my body. My heart ached so hard that I was just breathless. And nobody understood me. So, I just smiled to please them. Everyone told me that I have to move on. I didn't want to. But, I needed comfort that's true. Sarah gave me that comfort. Of course, I didn't love her. But I have nothing more in my life. It was that or making suicide. And I couldn't give up with my life because of you, because of your death, because I couldn't think you were actually dead if there was still a part in me who felt for you. I cling to that idea for the time you were gone. But each day, I thought about you. Each day, I cried for you. Each day, I just wanted to tell you that I loved you. And even if I really believed that my marriage could have helped me to move on, that was a lie and a huge mistake. Because, I hurt Sarah. I hurt you without knowing it. And I hurt myself. I always did the same nightmare about you and it was much worse when I had Sarah at my side. I cried each day of my marriage because of you, even the night of the ceremony, but you weren't there anymore to see me. The fact is, Sherlock, if I'm alive today, it's because of my feelings for you.

- There is something I don't get. You were married to her. So you obviously slept with her. How could you do that if you were in love with me?

- That simple even if it's embarrassing. And of course, you're going to be the only one to know. I couldn't perform without thinking about you, Sherlock. Yes, it's awkward. But, you were and you are the only one who can make me feel something like that.

- Having someone so important in your life isn't a strength.

- Of course, it is. That kept me alive. But, my point wasn't there. I told you that because I wanted you to understand that when you see me smiling, you felt something. You told me you did drugs that night. The fact is that you felt the day of my marriage. But you didn't know how to handle your feelings. So you repressed them… You see my point?

Sherlock looked at John. He was puzzled.

- Anyway, he finally said. It's just a proof that feeling and caring are a weakness, John. Especially for me.

- That's false. On the contrary, I think it's good for you to have feelings, even if it could be a weakness sometimes.

- It's not good for my job, neither for my mind.

- I think you're wrong. I think you just force your brain to believe that, because – as I said earlier – of something of your past. I think you were young at that time and that you didn't learn to deal with your own feelings. It's actually easier to suppress them than handle them. But, in fact, even if you have feelings, that doesn't mean you wouldn't be able to do a good job.

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief.

- I know it's something important for you to deal with. But I want to help you, Sherlock. If you agree. If you're ready. You know, you asked me earlier to take things back, but I can't do that. I really can't. I don't try to give you an ultimatum. But, the thing is, Sherlock, and I understand that now that we are speaking, I can't live with you anymore if you don't want to do deal with that part of yourself. I don't care if it's hard. I don't care if it takes us years before you can free your own heart. I don't care that it takes my all life to do that because I love you. But, if you don't want to take that road, if you're not ready to do it for me, then I couldn't continue. Because, it would destroy me. Literally. I don't want you to tell me something you didn't think just to keep me at your side. I know that changing your habits frightens you. But, I just want you to be honest with me. If you're not ready to explore your heart with me, you're going to lose me. I can't play that game anymore. I know I must look like that I overreact. But that's what I feel and I need you to accept that. So, just be honest. Release me, Sherlock, if it's what you feel.

As he was speaking, John cried because he was convinced that Sherlock didn't want to go on that way. That he was too scared, too afraid. And in fact, that he didn't love him enough or maybe at all…

Sherlock was shivering. He wasn't cold, he was just full of emotions. Seeing John crying was hard to handle. Despite it, he buried his eyes into John's and then he took his hand in his own.

- John, he began softly, do you really think I could have played your heart? I know that sometimes I'm tactless. Usually, I don't even realize it. But, not with you. Not about something so important. Everything I felt in my mind when we were separated, since we came back together, even if my brain tried and tries to repress those feelings, they are here. I said earlier that my brain delete everything about feelings and emotions. I lied, John. Because in my mind palace, there is a room which belong to you, the room where I keep everything we have lived together, everything we did together and felt together. This room is the biggest, the most beautiful, the most luxurious, and the most soothing room of the palace. Besides, you also fulfilled the room reserved to my emotions. I wish I could spend all my time there, in your room. That's what I would do if I haven't that reflex of self-protection which prevents me to have a look around my emotions. So, of course, I don't want you to leave me but it's not because of my fear of change. You asked me to be honest, to not fake an emotion I don't have. I can't tell you that I love you because it would be the easy way for you to accept to stay with me. I'm just being honest: without you, my life hasn't the same taste, without you, my job hasn't the same interest, without you, my mind doesn't turn as quickly as it can, without you I don't know how I did to tolerate the life, to tolerate myself. So John, Please, stay with me because for you and only for you I'm ready to re-open that part of myself.

Sherlock hadn't say the words "I love you", yet he had just made to John the most beautiful declaration of love.

- I'm going to teach you, Sherlock. To teach you how to feel. Or maybe, we will discover it together.

- So, John, what's the beginning?

John thought for a while.

- Well, when you have feeling for someone, your heart encouraged you to act.

- How so…

- For example, with the texts you wanted to send me when we were separated.

Sherlock frowned.

- Yes, Sherlock, I saw them and it was heartbreaking.

- You weren't supposed to see them, though.

- I'm glad I did. Maybe we wouldn't have this conversation if I didn't.

- Sure we wouldn't have it, if I wasn't high.

John rolled his eyes.

- Never mind. So what am I going to do, then…?

- Think about something you want to share with me. Even if you believe it's nothing. Something which matters to you.

- Okay, I need to think about it, John. Give me a minute, please.

John smiled because it was rare that Sherlock was so easy to handle. It felt so good. All their speeches felt so good. He didn't want that night ended actually.

Sherlock seemed so peaceful, his eyes closed. In his mind palace. Where there was an entire room for John. Oh God. He just wanted to kiss him.

John thought about how he would feel with Sherlock's lips on his own. He shivered. Hmm…

Then, Sherlock opened his eyes, a spark of resolution in them.

Sherlock was ready to share with John something he didn't understand. Not yet.

- I have something to show you, John. In my first drawer…

Before he finished to speak, John was in front of it.

- It's locked.

- I know, Sherlock said in a laugh. The key is in Sigerson. I mean, in the skull.

- I knew it! I knew it! Yelled John.

- What John?

- I knew I have already heard that name. But I didn't remember when and where. That's why the logo on your coat was Sigerson.

Sherlock made a shy smile.

- It was my name on my fake ID. I missed my friend the skull a lot…

John smiled. And without thinking, he gave Sherlock a caress on his cheek. Very tender. Sherlock closed his eyes.

Then, John left the bedroom for the living room. He lifted Sigerson and found a key in it. After that, he came back holding the key as it was "his precious". He opened the drawer. There was nothing in it except a tablet. John frowned. He took it. Then, sat on the bed again.

John gave the tablet to Sherlock, still puzzled. Sherlock inputted a code. On the screen, John saw two pictures and a note.

- Have a look at it, said Sherlock.

The first picture represented two little boys who had almost 5 years old. There was a man standing behind them, a hand on both shoulders. But, the head of the man was cut. The second picture was a dead body. The note said: "Welcome Sherlock, I'm glad you find the code. I knew you would. I also knew you couldn't help but open it. You're so predictable. As everybody else. As was your dear friend Moriarty. I'm not like him, as you probably figured it out. The fact is, I never wanted you to die. I'm afraid that Jim was too obsessed with you. I didn't see that coming. My bad. But, you're still alive. So, that's not too serious, don't you think? Whatever! I just want you to know that since you didn't care about the loss of your reputation, since you didn't even care to be dead, I found another way to break you. A better one. Because, Sherlock, you can be sure that I'm going to break you. I know you don't understand why I am doing this right now. You'll know some day. But I prefer to let you in the dark. I just give you some clues about your next case. I just want to shake your brain. Have a nice game. See you son. M."

John couldn't accept what he was reading and seeing. Dammit! Who was that guy?

- So, what do you think? Asked Sherlock.

John looked stunned. Yes, Sherlock had asked his opinion.

- Well, the most obvious… He made a mistake. He wrote son instead of soon. That's quite strange.

- That's because it's not a mistake, John. You see the dead body, it's my father. He died when I was sixteen, except I didn't ever see that picture. And, the boy on the left in this picture, it's me. But I don't know who the other boy is. I don't even remember it.

John was stunned by those revelations. He didn't understand what was going on.

- So, I don't get it. Is M. implied that there is something wrong with the death of your father, or what?

John asked the question even if he knew that Sherlock wasn't going to answer. As usual. So, he was really surprised when Sherlock began to talk. For the first time of his life, Sherlock was going to confide his suppositions to John. Sherlock was ready to share a lot with John. He wanted to show him he was trying to make an effort. Because, of course, he had feelings for him.

- I think M. is trying to tell me that he is my father…

- What?

- It's quite obvious, actually.

John rolled his eyes.

- What about the boy? Who do you think he is?

- My brother probably. Or at least, that's what he thinks. M. could be just another lunatic…

- He is one. What else did you deduce?

- Well, I only know one person who was enjoying to play with me about personal stuffs…

- Moriarty. And of course, they worked together. In your opinion, who was the professor and who was the student?

- We already know M. was the boss. So, I don't know, I need to do some experiments.

- But what do you think now?

Sherlock closed his eyes.

- It's okay, Sherlock. I'm here. If you can't tell me, it's okay.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He looked at John, finding some strength in him. Then, without stopping once, he said:

- I'm just scared that Moriarty could have been M.'s son. And if I am his son too so Jim was my brother… You see how M. talks about Moriarty. I'm afraid of what he wants to do to me.

John was stunned. By this revelation, of course. But also and especially because of Sherlock's trust in him. Sherlock never told his thoughts, never said when he was worried about a case. It was such an honor.

- Sherlock, we're going to handle that together, alright. No matter what happens, we'll be in this together. We don't know anything yet, okay. We're going to figure out, I swear.

Sherlock nodded. John saw in his eyes that he was really afraid.

John put his hand on Sherlock's arm and squeezed it.

- I'm happy you told me that, Sherlock. I want to help you. And, let me tell you, this feeling of confidence you make me feel just right now is amazing.

John looked at Sherlock, his eyes filled of love.

But, Sherlock had an unexpected reaction: he laughed, ironically.

John looked puzzled.

- I was thinking the exact same thing about confidence. Why in the first place did you trust me? Your shrink said you have trust issue. Yet, you trusted me in just one second.

John was perplex. Sherlock had the habit to jump from one object to another. And, John understood that Sherlock needed to speak about anything else than M, Moriarty, and filiation. He had accepted to give a lot of himself, that night. He needed comfort… So, John answered willingly because he wanted to give him that.

- Well, Sherlock, you were so amazing with all your deductions… I was totally amazed. And, I don't know how to explain it, but I felt some kind of connection between us.

- And when we move together, why did you stay with me despite my personality, my behavior?

- On the contrary, I was so glad that you let me share your incredible and extraordinary life.

- Tell me, honestly…

- I am. But if I have to tell you the all truth, Sherlock. The thing I love the most with you is that you challenge me. Each day is another challenge, another test in the good sense of the word. You force me to give the best of myself and I think it's mutual. That's why we're done to be together. That's why I stayed and I will never want to go away…

John's words were so amazing. Sherlock and he were lying on the bed, staring at each other. John's words meant a lot to Sherlock. Because in his all life, he had never found acceptance. And John was giving him that, every day, every time.

Because he was totally high, Sherlock's reaction was quite different as usual. Very different.

Slowly, he held on his forefinger to John's lips. Then, he touched all around his mouth.

John closed his eyes. It felt so amazingly good.

- Sherlock, don't do this, please, he whispered.

- Why, John?

- Because, that doesn't mean the same thing to you that it does to me.

- You don't know that.

- Of course I know. Let me remember you that you told me you weren't able to feel.

- And you don't want to enjoy my lack of inhibition.

- Don't tempt me.

- I tempt you.

- That's not a game for me, Sherlock.

- Neither for me. I just want to see what it's like to kiss you.

- Without feeling…

- I told you it's not as if I didn't feel anything.

- I can't do that.

- Why?

- Because I'm dying to kiss you.

- I don't get your point, John.

- Because I really want it but for real. I want you to really want it. Not as an experiment. But because you can admit, from your heart and not your mind, that you love me.

Sherlock pouted, his eyes still fixed on John.

- Don't make that face, Sherlock.

- I did it on purpose.

- I know and that's killing me because everything I want his touching your gorgeous lips with mine.

John touched Sherlock's lips and let his finger on it.

- I want to lick them, suck them and do everything I can with them…

- Actually, John, that did something to me. I don't know what exactly. A thrill or something. Like in the car, you know.

John frowned.

- When I wanted to smoke. I let my cigarette falling on purpose because I wanted to feel the taste of your lips in my mouth. When you took my cigarette in your mouth: that felt exquisite, actually. I wanted to ask you to kiss me but it felt quite inappropriate. At least, just your taste on the cigarette was worth it.

John shivered then smiled.

- Don't make fun of me, John.

- Actually, I don't. It's just a hopeful smile. Because, when you're like that, I know that you can learn how to feel.

- In any case, if there is one person who is capable of teaching me, John, I think it's you… So, kiss me.

- Actually, I have one question for you: what happened each time you made a step to me, as in the car. I mean, in your head, what happened?

- Well, my brain told me I can't feel that way. So I felt wrong, wrong with myself. I don't feel in harmony with myself anymore.

- So, how do you think you will feel in few hours, when you won't be high anymore and you'll realize that we kissed?

- My brain would like to kill me, probably.

- And you'll do drugs again?

- Most likely.

- So, you understand why I can't do that.

- Then, tell me again how much you die to kiss me. I really love to hear you tell me things like that.

Sherlock finished those words on a yawn.

- Well, Sherlock, I think you're tired and you need to sleep.

- Just a side effect… That will pass in a few minutes. Keep talking.

- I don't think so. You need to sleep.

John left the bed. He turned around the bed until Sherlock's side. Before, he could do or say anything else, Sherlock grabbed his arm.

- You can stay here, if you want. You can sleep with me.

- Is that a proposal, Sherlock?

- That's just a fact.

- Just tell me: do you want me to stay?

- Falling asleep, Sherlock answered, closing his eyes.

- I don't believe you.

- Stay… For your own sake!

Sherlock's eyes were pleading. John knew he couldn't ask him more. He was totally high after all and it was actually a good start.

After he put on his pyjama, John returned on the bed, near Sherlock. He wedged in the blanket. He came closer to Sherlock.

- Take me in your arms, John, please.

Of course, John did it. Sherlock's eyes were closed. He looked so young, like that, in his arms.

- Tell me how you love me, John.

And of course, John did it.

Even if it was hard for John to deal with this all situation, with his own feelings, John knew it was worth it. He couldn't put his own feelings on Sherlock because his way to repress his emotion was very childish. It was indeed easier to repress and suppress his feelings than to understand them, explain them and accept them.

John knew that the way he had chosen to take with Sherlock would be complicated, exhausting and really difficult to handle. In the other hand, John felt quite excited at the idea to take that way with Sherlock. Doing anything with Sherlock was exciting. It always gave you much more than you expected and much more than you gave in the process.

Yes, it was going to be an amazing and unexpected journey…

**The End**

…

Thank you so much to everyone who read, enjoyed and followed this story.

I invite you to follow the sequel of The Empty Roof to discover all the mysteries of Sherlock's past.

_Coming soon:_

**M as Moran**

The mysterious M. is still out there, ready to make is move. Sherlock and John are more ready than ever to fight him. Where is this case going to take them? John promised Sherlock to teach him how to feel again. Are they capable of it? The case is going to force the two men to take the train of Sherlock's past. A trip which is going to bring them some surprises and answers about the detective's origins.


End file.
